A Fine Line
by CriminalMindsGoneWrong
Summary: Emily can't stand the way Hotch undermines everything she says, but something about those dark eyes gets her. Every time. (Previously 'I Hate You but You're Hot.'
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"What the hell was that?" Emily closed the door to Hotch's office behind her as quietly as she could, struggling to keep a lid on the rage that was tearing through her veins. Nobody in the bullpen needed to hear this discussion.

He barely glanced up, raising one eyebrow as he did so, in the way that way that was _oh so_ Hotch, and only served to stoke the flames of her anger. "I don't know what you're talking about," He answered, shortly, "And please keep your voice down."

Affronted by his dismissive nature, but not surprised by it, Emily had to take a moment to maintain her composure, her professionalism. _Compartmentalize, Emily._ She was still holding the door handle, she realised, twisting the cool metal, as though it would keep her grounded, keep her calm.

Letting it go, Emily walked further into the room. She folded her arms across her chest, clenched her fists beneath them, and tried again.

"At the round table. You dismissed what I said about our Unsub being-"

"Part of a team. Yes, I did." He said, dark eyes meeting her own briefly, before he once again returned to his file, "Because there's no basis for your hypothesis."

"No basis?" Emily repeated, voice rising once again, "So you think this Unsub breaks in, kills these couples, cleans up and leaves messages in blood, scrawled across the walls, all within a half hour, and he does this all by himself?"

"You pulled it out of thin air, Prentiss. There had been no mention of a team up to this point-"

"That doesn't mean I'm wrong!" She countered.

"It doesn't mean you're right, either, and I'm not going to start this case off with a hunch - until there is more evidence, there's nothing to support your theory. You're reaching."

"And you're a misogynist," Emily yelled, stepping forwards and slamming her palms down onto his desk. "Dammit, Hotch, admit it; if one of the guys had come up with that idea, you wouldn't have dismissed it from them, would you? If Reid had suggested it, you'd have taken it on board, no question. You wouldn't have called Morgan or Rossi out in front of the whole team like that and _embarassed_ them, the way you just did to me. I mean, what am I even doing here, if you don't trust my skills or my opinions?"

Hotch had to force his eyes to remain on hers, but he was intensely aware of the way her shirt fell, when she leaned over his desk that way. Intensely aware of how her chest was rapidly rising and falling, her breathing coming faster because of her anger. Suddenly, the thought of angering her further was rather appealing. _Maybe I am a misogynist..._

His resolve faltered, his eyes flitting down, just for an instant, taking in the view. God, he hated when she wore those low cut tops. Especially the red one she was wearing today. As well as her teasing worked to get Unsubs to talk, it apparently worked even better on her supervising Agent.

Giving up on his file entirely, Hotch dropped his pen and fixed Emily with a stare that burned. She almost flinched, but caught herself first. She wasn't going to be bullied by him, not this time. This time, she was going to stand up for herself and her skills as a profiler. There was a beat of silence. Hotch seemed to be calculating how to respond to her. Emily was torn between speaking her mind and waiting to hear what he was about to say. Then she saw his eyes flicker. Just for a second, but it was long enough. Instantly, her body betrayed her threefold, in response to his lustful gaze. Her breath hitched in her throat, warmth spread across her chest and up her neck, and her nipples hardened, straining against her shirt.

Hotch didn't miss that, either.

The silence had gone on for too long. The room had grown hot, the air between them thick with tension and anticipation, each wondering what the other would do next.

Emily knew she could turn around and leave, (in fact, that was exactly what she knew she _should_ do) and that neither of them would ever acknowledge that this conversation had ever happened. They would go back to Hotch and Prentiss, back to sniping at each other across the round table and avoiding each other's eyes over dinner with the team. Back to missed glances on the jet and tensing up each time they accidentally brushed elbows or legs at a conference table.

Hotch knew this, too. He was almost willing her to leave. Mostly because the effort it took to keep his eyes from devouring her was almost too much for him, and the messages were starting to travel to different areas of his body. One in particular. But she wasn't leaving. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, Hotch watched as she straightened up. He couldn't help it, then, he was mesmerised by the shape of her nipples through that shirt. He wondered what they would taste like, and immediately reprimanded himself for the thought as his slacks grew ever so slightly tighter.

Emily was moving. Something had taken over her. A kind of calm confidence. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, and when they lingered on her chest, Emily knew she couldn't have walked out if she wanted to. And she didn't.

"Prentiss," He warned, as she neared him. Even as he spoke, though, he was pushing his chair away from the desk and turning it towards her. It was as though they were magnets; the pull of attraction too strong for either of them to fight. Emily was standing right in front of him, now, and it was impossible for him to look away from the magnificent shape of her breasts through her shirt, so close to his face, nipples straining, begging to be touched, pleading to be sucked.

The warning only spurred her on; there was something intensely hot about him using her professional name while he stared at her chest so unabashedly. Like he wanted to tear the shirt from her body. She wouldn't have complained, either. Not so long as he put those lips, which did so much talking and reprimanding and shit-talking, to some good use, for once. She stepped closer to him, could feel his breath warm her skin through her shirt. She wanted him to touch her, but his hands remained on the arms of the chair. He was waiting for permission.

She gave him all the permission he needed when she sank down onto his lap, straddling him, and lay her arms over his shoulders.

"Hotch," She purred, his eyes now level with her own. His lips were pressed into a thin line, as though he didn't trust himself to speak. "Are you going to help me with this?" She glanced down. His gaze didn't follow hers. He was looking at her face.

He had always known Emily was beautiful. Since she was eighteen years old, and he worked for her mother, the pale, dark haired girl had featured in his fantasies. For a long time, they were her only defining features. In recent years, her brown eyes pierced him, dared him to do unspeakable things. And now she had a voice, one he heard every day. A voice he ached to hear twist around his name in a helpless cry of passion.

His eyes, those steely eyes she knew so well were unreadable. All of the profiling skills in the world couldn't have told her what Hotch was thinking, but the growing pressure beneath her black trousers did exactly that.

Emily rolled her hips.

That broke his trance. Hotch moved so fast she flinched, rocking her hips back once again. His hands were at her waist now, holding her tightly. His eyes closed, only for a moment, as he enjoyed the feeling of her _there_. Emily dropped her head against his shoulder, hips slowly gyrating on his lap.

"Hotch," This time, it was almost a moan. Her hot breath on his neck and the desperate way she said his name was too much for him; what little self-control he had left vanished as the blood flow from his brain was redirected south. His eyes flashed open, taking in the sight of the beautiful woman on his lap, grinding down on him. He realised, as she rolled her hips over his aching, still-clothed manhood, that he hadn't even kissed her yet.

He tasted exactly like she had imagined he would. Like coffee, with a hint of mint in there somewhere. He didn't wait around to be asked, this time, his tongue pushing it's way authoritatively into her mouth. She accepted the kiss willingly, hands moving back to tangle in his dark hair. His own hands were moving from her waist to her back, pulling her closer to him, pressing her against him, feeling her nipples brush his chest. His hips bucked, involuntarily, and she moaned into his mouth.

"Emily," He growled, breaking the kiss for air. The way he said her name, her first name, made her weak. Made her dizzy. Made her forget where she was.

"Hotch, fuck me," She breathed into his mouth. His hands clenched, gripping her so tightly it was almost painful. He kissed his way down her neck, sucking her pulse point, marking her. Taking ownership.

They sprung apart at the knock on the door. Emily didn't turn around, afraid her lipstick would be smudged. Hotch turned his chair back towards the desk, hiding the obvious, bulging tent in his trousers.

"The car is downstairs to take us to the jet," JJ said, taking in the scene with curious eyes. Emily didn't turn; was she upset? JJ watched as her friend raised a hand to her face. Curiosity and concern creased her brow, but she didn't want to ask in front of Hotch.

"Thanks, JJ, we'll be right out." Hotch said, hoping she couldn't hear the way his breathing came quickly, the growl that hadn't quiet left his voice. His dick was still straining, painfully, in his slacks. He wanted to kick JJ out of his office, lock the door and do exactly what Emily had just asked him to do. Hearing it replay in his mind, Hotch knew he was in trouble.

JJ left, telling them the rest of the team would meet them downstairs.

More silence. The moment had passed, incredible as it had been, and was replaced now by the awkward aftermath. Each of them were replaying Emily's request in their minds. She was disgusted, he was impressed, and hard as a rock.

"Emily," Hotch began, but she cut him off.

"I'll see you on the jet," Emily made a beeline for the door before he could stop her, wondering how he was ever going to take her seriously after she had practically _begged_ him to fuck her, in his office. After he had humiliated her. Ashamed as she was of her own actions, though, she couldn't deny the warmth and pressure between her legs, and how nice it would have been to have Hotch between them to relieve it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Emily ignored Hotch the whole way to the airport. Staring out of the car window at the sun slowly making it's way towards the horizon, she was pretending he wasn't there. All the while, she was reprimanding herself for being so stupid, so available, so _eas__y._ That hadn't been her style for a long time. When she was a teenager, into her early 20s, sure. Maybe even into her mid-to-late 20s, if she were completely honest with herself. She could recognise old behaviours in herself that hadn't reared their head in a long time. It was a thrill. He was her supervising agent. They'd been in his office, their coworkers and friends nearby. The chance of getting caught had always enticed her. JJ's knock on the door had sent electricity straight down to between her legs. She could have lost it right there on his lap. It, and all the rest of it; Hotch, her job, her team, her reputation. She felt the cold, as soon as they parted, but her breathing was still coming fast, her face and neck still flushed.

Chancing a glance at him, she saw that he, too, was staring out of the window. His hand was clenched into a fist on his lap, where Emily's eyes lingered for a moment too long, remembering the hardness of him against her thigh. All of the moisture left her mouth and she had to avert her eyes, feeling the flush that crept up her cheeks. Suddenly far too hot, she reached for the button to roll down her window, grateful for the evening breeze that drifted into the car, closing her eyes against the feeling.

_You stupid cow. First rule of Fight Club. Just don't talk about _it. _It will go away._

It would be impossible for Hotch not to notice the way Emily ignored him, as he reached into his briefcase for the file he had previously abandoned in order to appreciate her body in all of it's perfectly toned glory. Thirty minutes ago, she was straddling him, grinding on him like he had paid her to do it, and now she was cold and distant and avoiding his gaze at all costs. Hotch couldn't say he blamed her. He had taken advantage. As her superior, he should know better. Hadn't they had a fraternisation lecture just last week? He'd heard it all. Stories of agents who lost their jobs over in office relationships. Even a few who had lost their lives, because they'd been too involved and invested in their partner and it got in the way of their work.

_She's not in love with you, jackass_, a voice in his head said, _it was obviously just the heat of the moment, and now she regrets it. Best not to bring it up, or at least not talk about it until she brings it up._

They had both come to that conclusion simultaneously, though neither of them thought to share that with the other.

In the front of the car, JJ noticed the steely silence behind her. She glanced at Rossi, but he was driving and didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. Even if he had, he wouldn't have thought much of it. Hotch and Prentiss' showdowns were legendary, and it was commonplace for one or both of them to give the other the cold shoulder. That usually came _after_ a case, though. Not before one. JJ was still thinking about the scene she had walked into earlier. Hotch had looked...flustered. Hotch _never_ looked flustered. Hotch was the epitome of composure. She had seen Hotch face death, and worse, and never flinch. The expression he always wore was one of professional indifference. It took a lot to change that expression. She had never seen him flustered, almost dishevelled, as he had been earlier. And Emily hadn't even turned to look at her, which was even more unusual. JJ wondered, briefly, if she had done something to offend her best friend, but immediately before Emily had stormed into Hotch's office, she had been ranting to JJ about it.

_"Who does he think he is, you know?" Emily demanded, not waiting for a reply from JJ, as she paced back and forth across the blonde's office, "I mean, he's just so condescending. He's always been a bit of an arsehole, but honestly, he's a fucking drill sergeant these days. And the worst of it; he wouldn't have shut me down so quickly if I had a fucking dick between my legs."_

_It wasn't the first of Emily's Hotch-rants she had heard, and JJ doubted very much that it would be the last, so she let Emily keep going, waiting for the moment when she would pause, anticipating a response from her friend. JJ knelt down, rifling through her go bag, checking she had everything. There were a few things she would have to buy when they landed in Utah, but for the most part, she was as prepared as ever._

_"He doesn't trust me," Emily was saying, "He doesn't trust me because of Doyle, and now he's taking it out on me in front of the team. And, you know what, that's not fair, is it? It's unprofessional and it undermines my skills and what I've done to get here. He's going to be so fucking embarassed when it turns out we _do_ have a team here, when more bodies start showing up because he can't check his goddamn ego."_

_"Are you finished?" JJ asked, softly, as Emily's rant finally died own. She had stopped pacing and was staring at the door, thumb to her lips as she chewed the nail."You need to let it go, Em. If you're right, you can tell him, 'I told you so', and be comfortable with the smugness that you got one over on Hotch. And, well, if you're wrong, and I'm not saying you are," She added, as Emily's gaze flickered towards her, "If you're wrong, you just don't speak about it again. One good thing; you'll never get an 'I told you so' from him."_

_"No, you know what," Emily said, her voice steely and set, "Fuck that."_

She had stormed from JJ's office, and the next time JJ saw her, she wouldn't even look at her. Could her Hotch comment have bitten that sharply? Emily would have to be pretty sensitive to take it so to heart, but JJ made her mind up to ask her later, when they arrived at the hotel.

* * *

Emily was the first onto the jet, heading for the runway as soon as they parked the car. She didn't want to give Hotch any reason to stop her for conversation. As far as she was concerned, the less they spoke during this case, the better. Maintaining her distance, at least for a little while, was the only way Emily saw either of them being able to go back to their strictly professional relationship. Seating herself at a table, in the seat near to the window, she quickly pulled out the case file and pretended she was engrossed in the words.

As soon as he sat beside her, every nerve in her body stood to attention. The little hairs on her arm raised, she felt a pleasurable shudder race down her shoulder blades and couldn't help but inhale deeply when his cologne floated in her direction, letting the heady scent of it overwhelming her senses. Why had she sat beside the window? She was now trapped, with Hotch too close for comfort, and no way of moving away from him without it being suspicious.

_Why, why, why? Why would he do_ that?

Crossing her legs beneath the table, Emily didn't even glance at her boss when her ankle accidentally brushed against his calf, but she felt his arm tense beside her, and reprimanded herself for being so careless. She was trying to get _away_ from him, trying to sit as close to the wall of the jet as she could, without it being obvious that she was cringing away from his body beside her.

_My god, girl, you're pathetic. Pull yourself together._

The flight was a long one, almost five hours, which would give them plenty of time to sit together and stew. When JJ settled into the seat opposite her, Emily wished she had sat on one of the single chairs, and when Reid sat beside JJ, she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. That kid didn't miss a trick.

Hotch cast a glance at the two agents sitting opposite them. Reid smiled as their eyes met, but otherwise seemed indifferent to his presence. JJ was on her phone, probably texting Will and checking in on the boys. He was glad of that. He had seen the question in JJ's eyes in his office earlier, was grateful she seemed to have dismissed it. He was sure she would question Emily later, but judging by the way Emily was shrinking away from him, leaning against the wall of the jet, so focused on her file that she hadn't even looked at him, Emily didn't want to talk about it. He only hoped she would be as silent with JJ as she seemed to want to be towards him.

"Alright, crime fighters," Garcia's voice came from the tablet Morgan was holding. "You'll be arriving in Utah at 11pm, so you'll be heading straight to the hotel. Tomorrow morning, the precinct will be expecting you, as are the crime scenes, and the coroner's office."

"Garcia I need you to-"

"Look into the couples to see if they've got any prior connections, already on it, sir. The info will be with you as soon as I've got it. Stay safe, my angels." Hotch thanked her, and Garcia was gone.

"Make sure you all get a good nights sleep, tonight," Hotch was saying, and Emily felt as though the comment were aimed towards her. Across the table, she noticed JJ's eyes flicker between the two of them, but her own eyes remained on the file, where they had been since she sat down. She had been staring at the same sentence since she opened the file, and not once had she actually read the words.

"Em?" JJ was talking to her, and from the way she and Reid were looking at her, she had repeated her name a few times.

"Sorry," Emily said, putting the file down on the table.

"Are you okay?" JJ asked, "You looked completely spaced out."

Reid was frowning at her, as were Morgan and Rossi, across the way. Emily wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn't. She shook her head.

"No, actually," She lied, "Got a bit of a headache. Can I squeeze past you?"

Her choice of words, directed at Hotch, and his eyes on her again, took her back to his office, back to his hands gripping her hips, squeezing her skin. She could see in his dark eyes that he was reliving the same moment. He stood up, stepped out of her way. As she stood up to get out of the seat, their bodies brushed. It was nothing, barely a touch, but it set her skin on fire.

_Fuck, _she thought, making her way towards the back of the plane, _I'm in trouble._

* * *

**Thank you for the reviews x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Emily braced herself against the counter, grateful for the curtain that separated the refreshments section of the plane from the rest of it. Closing her eyes, she tried to slow her breathing. Behind her eye lids, she could see the scene in Hotch's office so clearly.

She watched herself cross the floor, watched herself sink down onto his lap, saw the bliss on his face as she rolled her hips over his straining member, heard her own desperation as she gasped.

"_Fuck me, Hotch."_

The thought of what could have happened if JJ hadn't interrupted, the idea of him fulfilling her request, was playing out in her mind before she could stop it.

She saw him ravish her neck; wet, insistent kisses leaving bruises over her alabaster skin. She saw him lift her, sit her on the edge of his desk. Saw him unbuckling his belt, shoving down his trousers, as she stared at the huge bulge that was about to...

"Prentiss?"

Her breath hitched in her throat. Eyes opening, she saw her own knuckles, white as bone, where she was gripping the counter so tightly. There was a heat between her legs again. The second time that day she had gotten all worked up, and been denied the release she was craving so desperately.

"Are you feeling alright?" Hotch asked, in a low tone so that nobody on the other side of the curtain would hear their conversation. The note of genuine concern in his voice made her groan, internally.

Emily had a choice to make. She could stick to what she had decided and Fight Club it out, or she could come clean and tell Hotch that she really needed to finish what they had started in his office. She decided to go somewhere in between.

Turning around and raising an eyebrow at him, she gave him a pointed look. "What do you think, Mr Profiler? Am I alright? You tell me, since you're such an expert on all things behaviour."

His expression changed from one of concern to one of mild annoyance. He glanced towards the curtain, behind which the rest of their team sat, blissfully ignorant of their tryst.

"Go on, Hotch," Emily insisted, annoyed now, not only by her own unsatisfied arousal, but by his apparent nonchalance. Forgetting her own resolve to 'Fight Club' it out, she was growing more and more irritated by Hotch's apparent inability to broach the subject. It didn't help that his mere proximity was having the sort of affect on her that meant she may need to change her underwear as soon as they landed, "See if you can figure out what's wrong. I'll give you a hint; it happened in your office."

"Alright, that's enough," Hotch practically growled, and suddenly his hand was a vice around her arm. His grip was tight enough to hurt as he steered her towards the restroom. Emily thought for a moment that she was going to get what she needed to badly, that he was finally going to make good and get her off, but when he closed the door behind them, he turned to her not with an expression of desperate lust, but with one of absolute fury.

"What are you trying to do, Prentiss?" He asked, his voice low but furious, "Get us both fired?"

Emily, however, wasn't listening. Couldn't hear a word of what he was saying. All she was aware of was how little space there was between them in the tiny cubible of the Jet's restroom. Her lower back was pressed against the sink, his against the door and yet she could still feel his breath on her face as he spoke to her. They weren't quite touching, but she could feel the heat from his skin, hear the brush of fabric as his suit jacket grazed her shirt. The scent of his cologue, always so subtle, was suddenly heady and overwhelming. It would take days for her to get the scent of him out of her head.

_That damn shirt,_ Hotch thought.

Once more he was having to actively try and keep his eyes on hers. In his peripheral vision, he could see her chest move with each deep, steadying breath she took, and her tight shirt did little to cover the curves of her incredible breasts. The swell of her alabaster skin was bare before his eyes, and Hotch longed to see the rest of them. How many times had he dreamt of those breasts? He had caught himself on more than one occasional staring brazenly at Emily's chest. On the jet, at the Bureau, on assignment. Nights out with the team were the worst. Seeing her in work attire was one thing. Seeing her all dressed up was another thing entirely; more than once Hotch had found himself in club restrooms, trousers around his ankles, desperately tugging at himself to climax, all the while thinking of _her_, just so he could go back and face the team without a raging boner drawing their eyes.

If Emily had known the turmoil going on inside of Hotch's mind, she would have dropped to her knee's for him right there and then. She could see the cogs in his head turning, and the fact that he stoically didn't break eye contact with her once told her the effect she was having on him, again.

"No, I don't want to get either of us fired," she clarified, unnecessarily, turning away from him under the pretense of washing her hands. The reality was she couldn't stand him staring at her like that and not _doing_ anything about it. He, too, appreciated the relief when she turned away. Though, presented now with her behind, his eyes were drawn to appreciate her figure as she bent slightly to wash her hands. It was a position he had imagined her in many times, though decidedly less clothed.

It wasn't quite a moan. More an exhale. But Emily heard it. Her eyes flitted up to the mirror in time to see Hotch drag his eyes away from her ass and immediately she felt a fresh, hot wave of wetness in her underwear.

"Oh, fuck this," Emily muttered, aloud. She bent further over the sink and sighed with vindicated satisfaction when her ass came into contact with the growing bulge in Hotch's pants. His hands were immediately on her hips, as though it were an involuntary movement, and the feeling of his fingers digging into her was as delicious as it was painful.

"Prentiss, we can't," Hotch was saying, though even as he spoke she could feel him begin to grind slowly against her. Even through their clothes, Emily could feel his growing hardness, and the feel of it nestled between her ass cheeks was intoxicating. "We shouldn't."

"No, we shouldn't, sir" Emily agreed with him, closing her eyes and moving her hips slowly, deliberately over his crotch. Hotch's hands tightened around her hips, gripping her so tightly that Emily was sure she would have bruises when she checked later. She was holding onto the sink, pushing back against him.

The angle was awkward, the lack of space less than ideal, but neither of them cared as Hotch rutted against her ass. Emily needed more, unable to angle herself well against him in the small space. She fought with the button of her trousers, undoing it to allow enough give for her to shove her hand into her drenched underwear as Hotch moved one hand from her hip to circle it around her waist, holding her ever more tightly against. Her clit had been screaming for attention for so long that it took barely a stroke before her legs were shaking and Hotch's hand was clamped over her mouth, muffling the desperate moan escaping her throat.

As she came against him, Hotch couldn't take it any longer. He felt the tightness as his balls clenched, and it was all he could do to growl her name into her ear, "Fuck, Prentiss," as he came, violently, into his boxers.

For a moment they remained like that. Hotch held her against him, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Emily could feel him growing soft against her ass, as well as his hot breath against her ear. As her breathing slowed, Hotch's hand fell away from her mouth, trailing down her throat, across her chest. He, too, was trying to catch his breath. When he stepped away from her, Emily felt the cold seep back in. Her hand was still down her pants, and, where moments ago she had felt sexy and validated, now, she felt embarassed by her desperation. She hoped he wasn't looking at her as she withdrew her hand from her trousers, turning on the tap to wash her hands.

Hotch's hand reached from behind her and turned the tap off. Catching his eye in the mirror, Emily saw a darkness in his eyes. Where she had expected shame and anger, she saw only heat. Hotch took hold of her wrist, turning her around and Emily watched, unable to speak and barely able to breathe, as Hotch brought her fingers to his mouth. He didn't break eye contact as he sucked her fingers clean, tasting her. Emily had never seen anything so erotic and she knew the image would be one that haunted her on late, lonely nights.

"Wait a few minutes." Was all Hotch said before he disappeared out of the restroom. Emily waited longer than a few minutes. It took her longer than that just to get her breath back. Her underwear was a mess, but there was nothing to be done about that until they got to the hotel. Checking her hair and her lipstick in the mirror, Emily was satisfied that her appearance would give nothing away.

She was even more relieved, when she left the bathroom, to see Hotch sitting beside Rossi. He didn't even look up at her as she made her way back to her seat and returned to hiding behind her casefile. She didn't even see the exchange of confused expressions that passed between JJ and Spencer.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The rest of the plane ride was uncomfortable to say the least. Not only was Emily sitting in her own wet underwear, but she had to fight the urge to look around at Hotch and check whether he was looking at her. Not that she even really needed to check. She could feel the burn of his eyes on the skin of her neck.

The reality of what they had done set in shortly after she returned from the restroom, and she could feel the redness in her cheeks as she remembered each moment, each feeling, each movement in vivid detail. Knowing she was going to have to face him when they got off the plane was unbearable, and all too soon, the fasten seat belt sign was flashing at them, and they were descending.

Hotch tried to keep his eyes off of her. He had never been very successful in that endeavour before, and he was even less so now, with the memory of her face in the mirror as she rubbed herself against him embossed onto the inside of his eyelids. Even when he looked away from her, she was all he could see. All he wanted to see. And he wanted to see more of her.

It was dark when they landed. Once again, they had to split up into two separate cars for the half-hour drive to the hotel. Emily purposefully dragged her feet, pretending to search for something in her bag. She wanted to watch which car Hotch got into, and then she would make a beeline for the other. Hotch, however, allowed the rest of them to climb into the first car, then moved to the second. Walking towards the first car, Emily saw that Rossi, Morgan, Spencer, JJ had already climbed in, and with the driver in the front, there was no room for her. Swiftly changing her course, Emily glared at Hotch.

"What are you doing?" She asked, under her breath, as she neared him. He stood, holding the door for her. His face was unreadable.

"We need to talk," He muttered, climbing into the car behind her and closing the door.

"We really don't." Emily protested, but she saw by the expression on his face that this was one of his many non-negotiables.

The only relief for Emily was that the screen between them and the driver was closed. She didn't want this conversation to be overheard by anybody, at all. She couldn't imagine what he wanted to say to her. She, for one, had absolutely no comment to make about what had conspired in the restroom aboard the jet. It was an event she was willing to let fade into their past. A memory she would take out, late at night, and relive. As she thought it, she felt fresh wetness down below.

"That can't happen again," Hotch was muttering. He wasn't looking at her now. He was staring straight ahead. This, if Emily remembered correctly, was similar to how their last conversation had begun. And, well, that hadn't exactly gone to Hotch's plan. For that reason, Emily remained silent. She wasn't about to make any promises that might end up being broken. Because, whether or not she had made her mind up to avoid him, Emily couldn't trust her willpower any more than she could trust his. "I can't take the risk."

"The implication being that I can?" She rounded on him, challenging him.

"Prentiss," He turned those eyes on her, and Emily could see a secret there. When he spoke, it was quieter than before, as though he didn't quite believe that the driver couldn't hear them. "I'm up for assistant director."

A multitude of emotions shot through Emily all at once. She felt impressed, proud and happy for him, all at once. Stronger than any of those emotions, however, was the sense of loss that had immediately settled between them. If Hotch became the FBI's assistant director, he would no longer be their team leader. He wouldn't be around everyday. She wouldn't see him everyday. She tried not to let all of those passing emotions show on her face, but couldn't stop the panic that flickered across her eyes.

He didn't need to be a profiler to judge her expression. It was a minute change; barely a flicker in her eyes, but Hotch saw it. She would miss him. She was happy for him, but she would miss him. He would miss her, too, truth be told. More than she would know.

"It's not finalised yet," He continued, "It's all still very under the table. There are two other candidates, but I haven't even been told who they are. But, if I'm successful, I was asked to recommend my successor. I recommended you, Prentiss. There's no one else for the job."

This time, Emily couldn't contain her expression. He saw, clear as day, the surprise and then the pride that lit her face from within, along with something like gratitude. Then her eyes darkened once more. She nodded, reluctantly.

"I get it," She admitted, still nodding. "This could screw everything up for the both of us."

He nodded, slowly, deliberately. He wanted to tell her that, without the external circumstances, he'd have her every which way. He wanted to tell her that his attraction to her went so far back, further back, even, than the very first time she'd walked into his office. Ever since the first time he'd seen her. She was back from Yale, he was working for her mother. They'd had barely a passing interaction. She, twenty-one and glowing, had bounded into the lounge, in tiny, denim shorts, a red university sweatshirt and her dark hair fastened in a high ponytail that swished, exuberantly, when she walked. Sometimes, that was how he still imagined her, when she featured in his dreams. He imagined her, twenty-one, all eyes and hair, light and airy, writhing beneath him in passionate bliss. He imagined holding that ponytail, pulling it hard, while he pounded into her from behind.

His mind had strayed, and he couldn't help the effect it was having on him. Suddenly a little lightheaded, he felt the tightness of his slacks once more. Closing his eyes, he turned his face away from Emily and ran a hand over his face. _Think of _anything_ else, you fucking idiot._ But now that the image was in his head, and he could smell her perfume due to their closeness in the car, he couldn't get the image, so carefully crafted as it had been over the years, of Emily on all fours in front of him, as he fucked her, holding tight onto that _fucking_ ponytail.

Emily saw the internal struggle he was going through. At first, she didn't understand. It was only when she glanced down and saw the outline of his straining cock through his trousers that she understood. She wanted to know what he was thinking about, what could get him so hard, but, even more than that, she wanted to see it.

He heard the rustle of fabric, and suddenly the smell of her perfume was even stronger. He couldn't quite believe it when he felt a hand on his trousers. He didn't protest, as Emily unzipped them, and took out his rapidly growing cock.

"The last time, I promise," She mumbled,into his ear, so close that her warm breath tickled his skin, "Just let me help you with this."

Hotch didn't have it in him to protest as he felt her hand begin to caress him, gentle at first. She was stroking him, softly. Without warning, she gripped the base of his cock tightly. His hips thrust, of their own accord, and the groan that escaped his lips was deep and animalistic.

"Prentiss," He growled.

Emily barely heard him, mesmerised as she was by the sight of his cock. How they had found themselves in this situation for the third time in one day, Emily didn't know, but nor was she about to question it. If it was to be the last time, she at least had something to visualise, when her fantasies of him visited her. He was hot and hard and _thick_ in her hand, and Emily's clit throbbed, excited and neglected all at once. He was bigger than she had expected. It was _so_ pretty. Plump and pink, the head straining, drops of precum forming. Emily's mouth watered as she worried him faster. He was groaning, his fist balled against his mouth, teeth digging into his finger. Emily worked him harder, faster.

"I know you like that, Hotch," Biting his ear, she heard his breath come faster, "Now, cum for me."

"Fuck," Hotch thought he had hit his peak when she said that, but as his balls tightened, he felt a warmth engulf his cock and couldn't keep his eyes closed any longer. The sight of Emily going down on him, the feel of his cock slamming into the back of her throat, the ability to run his hands through her hair and fuck her mouth, as his cock exploded deep into her throat, was all better than he ever could have imagined. He had to be fucking dreaming. "_Prentiss!"_

Emily loved the power she had over him in that moment. She always had. She loved the way he growled her name, loved the way he fisted his hands into her hair. He pounded into her throat, and Emily felt her gag reflex engage, but fought it off, feeling the heat as Hotch came, deep in her throat. She had to push him away and gasp for air. His cum splattered across her face and chest, hot and sticky and wet, and Emily took him in her mouth once more, sucking mercilessly, milking the last of his cum out of his cock.

When he was finished, and she could feel him slowly softening in her mouth, Emily sat up. Hotch was red, and sweating, and looking at her with an expression of disbelief and reverence.

"Fuck," Was all he said, before he reached into his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. "Clean yourself up."

He watched as another image he knew would feature in his dreams forever unfolded before his eyes. The sight of Emily wiping his cum off her face and chest was one he wasn't going to forget quickly. He could feel his cock twitch pathetically, spent, but aroused. She was quiet for a long moment, but when she handed him back the handkerchief, there was a smirk of satisfaction on her lips.

She met his eyes, and he saw a twinkle of something like smugness there. "It's bigger than I expected," She complimented him, cheekily. Hotch couldn't find the words to respond to what had just happened. He wiped himself down and tucked his cock away, zipping his trousers.

"It can't happen again, Prentiss," He told her, though he didn't know if he was telling her or himself.

Emily said nothing as she fixed her hair, but the smirk of satisfaction remained on her face until they arrived at the hotel. The car stopped and Hotch climbed out first, holding the door for her. This time, when she brushed against him, it was on purpose.

"Thanks for the recommendation, _chief_," She said, darkly, and she turned and walked into the hotel without looking back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

A few hours later found Hotch in his hotel room, pacing back and forth, unable to get the visual of Emily Prentiss wiping herself down after going down on him out of his mind. His throat was tight, and he yanked the tie from his neck, throwing it onto the bed, where it lay with his previously discarded blazer, and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt.

Even more infuriating than the fact that she wouldn't leave his mind was the memory of the satisfied smirk that settled on her lips after she'd swallowed him down. He groaned, aloud, as the feeling of her throat constricting around him came back. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hotch dropped his head into his hands. He was supposed to be getting ready to go down for dinner with the team, but he knew he couldn't leave this room and face Emily while his cock was threatening to spring back to life imminently. He hadn't been so consistently aroused in so long. He wasn't as young as he had once been; it was as though Emily had given him a new lease of life. Or, at least, she had reminded him of a time when he was younger, less inhibited and more sexually unbridled.

Looking up, Hotch's eyes fell on the door that separated his from the bathroom. In that bathroom, there was a second door. And, on the other side of that door, Emily.

His dick twitched, eager and insistent. He adjusted his trousers, which were growing uncomfortably tight for the fourth time that day. Unbelievable as it was, Hotch couldn't help but be impressed, both with himself, and with Emily's ability to get him so hard up.

"Here are your cards," JJ had said, handing one to Emily, then the last to Hotch. "Rooms 203 and 204."

Hotch glanced at her, but Emily's eyes didn't even flicker towards him as she smiled at JJ and took the key-card from her with a quiet word of thanks.

"Dinner in half an hour?" Spencer suggested, as they all made their way into the lift. Hotch purposefully stood as far from Emily as he could. This happened to be further back in the lift than she was and, unfortunately, he could clearly see the back of her head, where her black hair shimmered in the light of the lift. He knew what her hair felt like, now. He knew how soft it was, what it smelt like, and how to twist his fingers through it while she went down on him.

"Hotch?" Rossi was talking to him, speaking in a tone that suggested he had repeated his name several times. They were all looking at him. His eyes scanned across them and found _hers_. Thar _fucking _smirk. It was infuriating. Her eyes twinkled with mischief, her lips curled, cheekily. "Italian?"

"Sure," he responded, absently. He didn't care where they went to eat, he just wanted to get out of this suddenly uncomfortably hot lift.

Now, he cared very much where they went to eat. He didn't want to go at all but, having agreed to it, he felt it would seem odd if he just didn't turn up. Even if he text Rossi with a message to say he wouldn't be comjng, there would be questions he couldn't answer. Rossi was always telling him he needed to be more social, he would try to convince him, then there would be more unnecessary excuses. It would be much simpler, if much more uncomfortable, to just go to dinner and subtly avoid Emily as best as he could.

Of course, as soon as he exited his hotel room, having hurriedly changed into a more casual shirt, blazer and jeans (which he fully expected to regret later), he heard the click of the door beside his and out came Emily. She didn't notice him at first, bscking out of her room and locking it behind her. She, too, had opted for casual jeans. Hotch very much doubted that _his _jeans made _his _arse look _that_ good. The deep, blue fabric hugged the orbs of her ass so tightly, accentuating the curve of her hips and the definition of her muscles.

She jumped when she turned and saw him standing there, and Hotch had time to relocate his eyes to a more socially acceptable level. Even looking into her deep, brown eyes was erotic; he knew they were both remembering the last time they were alone together. As he looked at her, he saw the colour in her cheeks deepen. She looked almost shy, and he marvelled at how one woman could be so brazen and so timid all at once.

Say something, an insistent voice in his head demanded, say anything you idiot.

"You look nice," was the first thing that came to his mind, and he regretted it immediately. Never before had he commended on her appearance. He liked to maintain a sense of professionalism, and complimenting his female subordinate agents was tip-toeing on a line that he had never wanted to cross. Although, as he thought it, he realised that the line had been considered, crossed and disregarded hours ago.

The abashed expression didn't quite leave her face, but a sort of amused smile lifted the corners of her mouth. He liked that little smile, and found himself smiling back.

"Hotch," She said, stepping towards him.

He tensed, waiting, in both anticipation and apprehension, for her next move.

"We should go to dinner," she finished, and indicated that he was standing directly in her way. He stammered, moved aside, and fell in step beside her as they headed for the lift.

They travelled downstairs in silence, though Hotch could feel the tension in the lift grow thicker and thicker with each passing floor. He didn't know if she was feeling it too, though he expected (and, though he would never have admitted it, rather hoped) she was. Emily, however, made no sign that she was uncomfortable at all, occasionally throwing him a polite smile, but offering up no more communication. To his annoyance, Hotch found himself almost disappointed when they reached the ground floor. She was obviously taking her earlier statement seriously.

"_The last time, I promise."_

Her breathless, throaty voice speaking those words in his mind made his cock twitch in his jeans. He had known he would regret that fashion choice. Following her out of the lift did not help. Try as he might, he couldn't keep his eyes from straying down to her ass as she swayed towards the restaurant.

_What _was this woman doing to him? Before, his urges and desires had been strictly imaginary, and restricted to his bed or shower, or, at the very least, his private time. He would be lying to himself if he didn't admit the few times it had gotten too much for him at the office. There had been times when he'd had no choice but to lock his office door, while that delightful memory of a twenty-one year old Emily visited him. More often than not, she would morph before his eyes and before him stood the Emily Prentiss of the BAU. No longer as light and airy, but just as much of a temptres. That youthful innocent was gone, replaced by a knowing seductress, whose dark eyes followed him across rooms and whose lowcut tops haunted his sleepless nights and whose perfect, peachy arse he couldn't stop staring at as he followed her into the restaurant and towards their table.

Of course, when they arrived, the only two seats left were beside one another. He and Emily slipped into the spare seats wordlessly, neither of them making any sort of fuss. It just wouldn't do to cause any tension for the team. These people were more than a team; they were family, though Hotch would always be reluctant to admit it to any or them. He would gladly take a bullet for any of them, but the idea of admitting that aloud to any of them was more excruciating than the hypothetical bullet would be. And, much as he knew they all felt the same way, knowing what was happening between the two of them was sure to cause ripples, if not waves. _What had happened_, he corrected himself. Had. _Had, had, had, has. _It would not, could not, happen again. They both understood that now, and there was too much on the line for the both of them. Pleasurable as their encounters had been, aroused as they made him when he thought of them, they were not worth risking the careers they had both worked for years to build.

Much of dinner went by without any notable incidents. They didn't discuss the case. They never did when they sat down to dinner together. There was a sort of unspoken agreement between them all that they not talk about the gory details of any of their cases in public or over dinner. Nobody else wanted to hear that while they were eating, and nor did they. One meal a day where they could avoid discussing serial killers and dead bodies was the least they could give to each others. Not to mention, it would be quite unprofessional of them to discuss the inside outs of a federal case in such a public space.

Hotch zoned out of much of the conversation. He politely nodded along, but he wasn't listening to a word any of them were saying. He was too aware of Emily beside him, the heady scent of that same perfume she had worn in the car, and the way her arm kept brushing up against his own as they navigated their way through their meal. The more it happened, the more he began to think she was doing it on purpose. Testing the wtaers, the next time her arm brushed against his, he pushed back. Slightly, barely a movement, but he saw her eyes flicker towards him, up from her meal. He smirked to himself, unable to stop the curve of his lips. Catching the same smile on her face, Hotch quickly distracted himself with a gulp of his beer, pretending to be suddenly interested in the story JJ was telling about the boys.

"Did Jack ever go through a phase like that, Hotch?" She asked him, as the rest of them chuckled around the table. All but Emily.

Hotch, having missed the firat bit of the story, and therefore unable to answer honestly, regarded her amused expression and then smiled. "Don't worry," he gambled, "They grow out of it."

JJ looked satisfied with his answer and Hotch breathed an internal sigh of relief at having gotten off so lightly.

As soon as it was acceptable, which was about fifteen minutes after their desert plates had been taken away, Hotch stood up.

"I'm going to head to bed," he told them, "Don't be up too late, I expect we've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emily knock back the final sip of her wine, then she followed him to her feet. "I'll head up with you, I'm absolutely beat."

No one made any comment, and nor would they, since they were all oblivious to anything having changed between the two of them, but Hotch felt his heart jump in his chest, fear momentarily choking him. But, of course, they barely noticed. Bidding them all goodnight, he and Emily made their way towards the lift. She walked beside him this time, and Hotch was grateful for that. After two beers, and a whole day of new experiences with her, he didn't trust his ability to keep his hands to himself.

As they walked away, neither of them noticed the way JJ's eyes flickered to them, ever so slightly creased with suspicion.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The lift seemed to take forever to make it down to the ground floor. He and Emily stood, their reflections in the glass wall of the elevators making it impossible to ignore each other. Again, just like on the way down, Emily was quiet. She knew it was starting to drove Hotch crazy. At the same time, though, she didn't know exactly what to say or do. He was up for Director. She knew him well enough, and had known him long enough, to understand that Hotch was a man who lived for his career. He had paid for that with Hayley's life, all those years ago, and had never gotten over it. Now, Emily knew how much Hotch loved Jack. She had seen it on his face as he beat Foyet to death, as he spoke at his wife's funeral, and everytime before and since that he had spoken about his little boy. But he had never left the BAU. No matter the circumstances. Even after Hayley. He was still here. He was more married to the office than he ever had been to her. Yes, he had loved her. Emily didn't doubt it. But he hadn't loved her enough. Doing his job, catching the bad guys, making the world a safer place for his son, was the most important thing in his life. Emily knew he wouldn't jeopardize that for anything. And she wouldn't expect him to.

And, as for her, never before had she allowed a man to come between her and achieving her career goals. Happy as she was at the BAU, happy as they all were, there would come a point for them all where career progression was the only step that made sense. She didn't want to threaten her chances at becoming Unit Chief any more than he wanted to risk being made Director.

And yet she couldn't deny the way her body reacted when she saw him. When she remembered the feel of him. The taste. It was all she could do not to groan aloud as she remembered.

Right at that moment, the lift arrived. Dinging open before them, Hotch, ever the gentleman, gestured for her to go first. She strode into the lift and, as she did so, caught her heel on the carpet.

"Fuck," she muttered, bending over to adjust her shoe.

Three things happened simultaneously. Hotch crashed into her from behind, grabbed for her hips, and Emily gasped, the almost-groan she had supressed escaping her throat. If not for the arm that wrapped around her waist, she would have fallen and smacked her head on the floor.

"I'm sorry," they said, in unison. She was apologising for stopping in front of him without warning. He was apologising for grabbing hold of her.

He still had hold of her.

Emily had straightened up, and Hotch's arm had remained around her waist. The other hand still held onto her hip, hot against the sliver of skin that showed between her jeans and her shirt.

It was the first time that either of them noticed the mirrored back of the lift.

This was all too familiar. Only, there was much more room in this lift than there had been in the jet's restroom. There was silence yet again. Emily didn't move. She help Hotch's gaze in the mirror, barely breathing. Waiting, with baited breath, for him to let her go. Watching him, seeing the internal struggle in his eyes. He was hard against her ass. He knew she could feel it. Still, Emily didn't move. She didn't want to force his hands. No, she desperately wanted to force his hands. He'd had twice as much release as her today. He owed her one. But she didn't move.

"Hotch," she breathed, eyes glued to his in the mirrored surface. She watched his eyes close, slowly. He turned his head, burying his face in her hair, and Emily heard him inhale, deeply. The rise of his chest against her back was so intimate, Emily closed her eyes, enjoying the closeness of him. This was different to the jet, different to the car. Hotch's face was still buried in her hair when his hands started to move.

The hand around her waist moved slowly. So slowly. The tips of his fingers grazed her skin, barely fluttering, so light that she squirmed, his touch tickling her. She felt, more than heard, the chuckle that Hotch breathed into her hair. She felt a gush of excitement flood her underwear.

He was drawing patterns across her stomach, feeling her abs flex beneath his touch as she writhed, enjoying the light sensation of his fingers over her skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his hand crept upwards, until it was entirely beneath her shirt. Up towards her ribs, where he once again stopped to draw patterns of swirls and waves.

He wouldn't ever tell her that he was writing his name across her skin.

"Hotch," his name was becoming a constant whine from her throat. He grunted, animalistically. Something about the way she breathed his name, so pleading and demanding at the same time, drove him crazy.

His hand stayed at her rips, barely grazing the bottom of her breast. Much as he ached to feel them, see them, suck them into his mouth and drive her as crazy as she was driving him, he knew that the torment of making her wait was worse for Emily. So while his right hand remained frozen at her ribs, his left began to move slowly downwards. She gasped when she realised what he was doing, and he thought he heard her breathe, "yes," desperately. His cock was straining, painfully, in his jeans, and he moved it slowly against her ass. Grinding against her was good. Being inside of her would be better. The thought made him growl into her hair, the scent and feel of her the only thing in the world he was aware of.

His fingers dipped beneath the belt of her jeans, and he felt the lace of her underwear. She whimpered, impatient and discontented, when his fingers didn't slide beneath the lace, but traced over it. He could feel her beneath it, smooth and soft and yielding.

Turning his face away from her hair, he caught her eyes in the mirror. They were dark and half-closed. Her skin was pale, making the flush of her cheeks even more wanted to watch her unravel.

Stroking her through her underwear, he could feel her wetness, sticky on the tips of his fingers.

"God, you're soaked," He muttered, more to himself than to Emily. She whimpered, though, in response, agreeing with him, unable to speak. In the mirror, he watched her bite her tongue as his fingers expertly found her clit, circling it once, twice, through the lace of her thong. "Shall I?"

She nodded, quickly and eagerly. Hotch had never been overly ambitious in the bedroom with Hayley. She was his childhood sweetheart. Their sex had been good, but safe, far from adventurous. With Emily, each encounter left him wanting more. He wanted to sink his fingers deep into her, wanted to feel her muscles tighten around him as she lost all control all over his hand. But, most of all, he wanted to make her beg for it.

Still swirling a finger around her clothed clit, he finally moved his other hand up, finally feeling the heavy weight of her breast in his hand. She wasn't wearing a bra this evening.

"Tease," he accused, enjoying the softness of her full breast, moving his hand up and feeling the stab of her erect nipples. He so wanted to taste them, but not as much as he wanted to make her beg. "What do you want?"

Emily could have lost it right there. She couldn't believe what he was saying to her. As one finger swirled around her bullet-hard nipple and the other teased her most sensitive button, Hotch's voice in her ear was asking her, "What do you want?"

_He wants me to plead with him._

Pride flared inside her chest, but was quickly extinguished by a fresh gush of wetness that coated her. She wanted him _there_. She needed attention. Needed to be filled, by anything.

"You," she breathed.

"Hmm?" Hotch prompted, a smirk tracing across his face as she looked at him in the mirror.

"You, Hotch," she said, louder, "I want you. Please."

The please was all he wanted. Suddenly, swiftly, completely, his fingers were inside of her. She flinched at the sudden penetration, then the pleasure washed over her as he began his assault.

"Fuck, you're so wet," He was saying into her ear, while one hand moved frantically down below and the other pulled and tugged her sensitive nipples. Emily had never anticipated that Hotch would be one for dirty talk, but she gushed over his fingers each time he mumbled in her ear.

Staring at her in the mirror, Hotch didn't think he had ever seen anything as hot. She was fully clothed, yet the expression on her face as his fingers moved at bullet speed inside of her, the way she arched her back and pushed her tits into his hand, was too much for him. Hotch withdrew his hands, grabbed her arms and spun her around, slamming her back against the wall. He slammed her hands above her head with one hand, shoving the other back into her jeans, wanting her to stare into his eyes as she fell apart all over his fingers.

"Hotch," she pleaded, desperately. Her voice shook, and a tear leaked from one of her eyes.

Realising that from this angle, she could reach him, too, Emily grabbed for his cock, undoing his belt and releasing him from his denim prison. He groaned, uncontrolled, as she gripped him, matching the speed at which his hand moved inside of her. He flicked his thumb over her clit, and watched as her knees shook. Grinning to himself, he repeated the action. She was working him hard and fast, wanting to get him to the same place where she was. It didn't take long at all. Hotch had been ready to cum for her for hours. He could have cum for her immediately after she swallowed his second load of the day. She made him feel like a teenager again, with an endless wealth of spunk and energy, all thanks to her.

"Come on," he growled, his face close enough to hers that he could see the sweat that beaded in her hair line. Her lips shook, unable to form words, as he felt her walls tighten around his fingers, and his thumb worked quickly over her clit, "Yes, good girl, cum for me."

And she did. He felt the gush as she came over his hand. She let out a noise of pleasure he knew would haunt him, from deep inside her throat, and his cock exploded, shooting thick, white ropes across her stomach and her t-shirt, pleasure coarsing through his body as he watched her come apart all over his hand. He had never seen a more erotic sight than Emily's orgasm face.

They stood in silence for a moment. The encounter had taken less than a full elevator ride to floor 14, but it was as if time had slowed down for them. His hand was still inside of her; he could still feel the flex of her walls around him. He wondered if he would ever feel that glory on his cock.

"We should clean up," She whispered, not trusting her voice not to break if she spoke at a normal volume. But she didn't push him away.

Reluctantly, painfully, Hotch stepped away from her. The hand that withdrew from her jeans was soaked, her juices coating his entire hand.

As she watched, Hotch did one of the most erotic things Emily thought she had ever seen. He brought his hand to his lips and sucked her juices from his fingers, closing eyes as he enjoyed the taste of her. Emily's knees shook, her stomach tightening. Shit.

The doors dinged open not a moment later and Hotch hurriedly redid his belt and followed her out of the lift. Neither of them spoke. Hotch was hoping she would invite her into his bedroom, Emily was anticipating whether he would ask her to join him in his.

As they rounded the corner, they saw JJ unlocking her bedroom door.

"I'm exhausted," she told them, as they neared, "I followed you guys out but I must have just missed your lift."

Resigned to going to bed alone, Emily and Hotch both unlocked their doors as JJ said goodnight and disappeared into her own room. With one last glance over at him, Emily stepped into her bedroom and closed the door behind her, leaning against it and sliding a hand down into her jeans, ready to relive that elevator ride until the morning, and wishing Hotch had used more than just his fingers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Emily's night was far from restful. It was hot; the thin covers stuck to her damp skin. She had stripped down to nothing, but still felt as though she were on fire. At some point in the night (she thought maybe 3am) she got out of bed to open the windows, pulling on her discarded shirt but not bothering to fasten the buttons. Like many hotels, the windows were safety locked. They cracked open; it was barely two inches, but even then, she felt the benefit of the cool evening air seeping in through the gap.

The cool air grazed her skin like a welcome touch, and Emily closed her eyes in response. The city was surprisingly quiet, but Emily knew better than to believe that. Hotch wasn't the only thing keeping her awake. After considering it for a moment, Emily moved to where she had dropped her handbag. Rooting around with her hand, she found the cardboard box she was looking for and withdrew a cigarette and her lighter, and picked up the file she had dropped onto the side table.

The cigarette felt comfortable between her lips, but she waited until she was back at the window to light it. Perching on the window ledge, she thought of the reason they were here in Utah. The quiet streets below were deceptive; Emily couldn't help but wonder if they would have a new set of victims by morning. Flicking open the file, Emily read through everything she hadn't been able to focus on whilst on the plane. She had used the file to hide her face, had wanted to seem engrossed in it, but she hadn't actually read a word of it. Now, she buried herself in it, learning and relearning each aspect of the case.

The more she read, the more convinced she became that the unsub was actually a pair of unsubs. Hotch, she knew, was still unconvinced, but every additional piece of evidence only cemented her resolve.

_...no sign of forced entry..._it could be easier to use a ruse to gain entry into the houses as part of a team, and easier to subdue two victims if the numbers were even.

_...both victims were restrained, their wrists and ankles fastened together with cable ties..._if there was only one unsub, it would have been difficult for them to control one victim while restraining the other.

_...no sign of head trauma or antemortem injuries..._again, if they were both restrained (and this was a signature that occurred in each murder scene) then the only way to restrain both at the same time would be to subdue one of them first. There was no evidence of this.

By the time her cigarette had burnt to a stub and she had finished reading through the file, Emily was only more certain of her theory.

The challenge was going to be convincing Hotch.

* * *

Several hours later, after finally getting some sleep, Emily was ready to make her way down to breakfast. This time, when she exited her hotel room, she wasn't greeted by Hotch, but by JJ.

"Morning," The blonde smiled, "I thought we could walk down to breakfast together."

"Sure," Emily replied, returning the smile as she locked her door and they began making their way towards the elevator. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine, but I think the AC in my room is broken." JJ complained.

"Yeah, mine was off, too. I ended up having to crack the windows. Maybe it's the whole floor. I'll ask Hotch later."

Emily spoke without thinking, and even after she said it, she didn't think anything of the words that had left her lips. Of course, whenever she thought or spoke of Hotch, she remembered the feeling of his fingers working frantically inside of her, but JJ couldn't know that. JJ wasn't inside of her head. So, why was JJ looking at her like that?

They waited for the elevator in silence. JJ wasn't looking at her anymore, but Emily had seen enough confusion in the blue eyes she knew so well that it made her uneasy. When they stepped into the elevator, she didn't think she would be able to stomach her breakfast anymore.

"Oh, Jayje,will you just say it?" She asked, desperately, when the silence became too much.

JJ had been her best friend for almost a decade; the silence was loaded. Emily wanted all cards on the table, at least with JJ. Anything but the silence.

"Is there something going on between you and Hotch?" JJ blurted out. Emily stared at her friends reflection in the mirrored wall. She remembered standing here last night, staring at Hotch in the same mirror. And suddenly, even if she had wanted to, she couldn't lie to JJ.

"I don't know what's going on between us," She said, honestly, "So I guess _something_ pretty much covers it."

JJ's face changed. It wasn't quite relief, but it was something close. Even if she didn't have the entire truth, her best friend wasn't keeping secrets. Emily could have lied to her face, but she didn't. For now, that was enough for JJ. She didn't need need to know what was going on between Hotch and Emily. They were adults, they were single. They could, as far as she was concerned, do what they wanted. As long as neither of them let it get in the way of their work, and JJ hoped she knew them both better than that, she didn't think it was any of her business. They were both still young, both smoking hot. It made a lot of sense, now that she thought about it. Still, curiosity got the better of her.

"I sense some juicy details," She smirked, and Emily blushed a deep rose, trying to conceal the embarrassed smile that spread, involuntarily, across her face. "Ah-ha, I'm right!"

"I am not getting into this right now," Emily laughed, stepping out of the elevator as they arrived at the ground floor. That ride had felt _much_ longer last night. Not that she was complaining.

"You're right," JJ muttered, as they entered the dining room and made their way to the table, where the rest of the team were already digging into their breakfast, "We'll save that for a wine night."

Emily was saved from having to reply as they arrived at the table and took their seats. JJ got up to immediately get her breakfast, but Emily busied herself with pouring them both a cup of coffee. Two sugars and milk for JJ. She, herself, liked her coffee bitter and black.

"Tired, princess?" Morgan noted, as she spooned a second spoonful of coffee grounds into her cup. She had been in the profession long enough,that even the worst instant coffee didn't put her off.

"My room was sweltering; JJ said the same. What was yours like Hotch?" She asked. JJ had just arrived back at the table with a plate of toast and eggs, and a side dish of grapefruit for Emily. She thanked her and passed the coffee over the table.

"Mine was fine," Hotch muttered, in between spoonfuls of porridge, "But I still couldn't sleep."

Emily saw JJ cast a glance towards her, but didn't dare meet her eyes. Hotch didn't look at her, but Emily couldn't help but wonder if there was a subtle message in his comment, or if she was just treading too much into it. Perhaps telling JJ hadn't been one of her brightest ideas. The blonde hid her smile behind a sip of coffee, and Emily busied herself with the rest of her breakfast while Morgan, Reid and Rossi launched into a discussion about the day ahead of them.

* * *

Thankfully, Emily found herself with neither JJ nor Hotch that morning. Instead, she and Rossi headed to the morgue.

No matter how many times she walked into one of these places, Emily was never prepared for the smell. It seemed that the more vapor rub she used, the less it worked. It wasn't the smell of death; this was something different. She had walked into crime scenes before, she had seen desecrated corpses before, but the smell of a morgue and the sterile, stillness of it was something else entirely.

Rossi did most of the talking, for which she was grateful. The coroner led them into the room and Emily was confronted by four bodies lying on the cool, metal slabs. Another sight she would never get used to, no matter how many times she had seen it, or how many times in the future she would see the same sight. It was, she knew, easy to become desensitised to such sights. She had met agents who barely blinked at the sight of a dead body. Hotch. She had seen him stare at a murder victim. Sometimes, his eyes barely flickered. Sometimes, she worried about that.

She and Rossi followed the coroner to the body furthest away from them. Emily tried not to look at the faces of the deceased as she passed them. She would have to look at them, closely, soon enough. She had a strong stomach; she had always been strong enough for this. But, each time she had to stare into the face of a murder victim, she felt like she lost a little bit of her humanity.

The first body, the female victim from the first murders, was covered up to her neck. They all were. Emily didn't look away as the coroner moved the sheet down, revealing a deep, dark gash across the woman's pale throat. The wound was dry now, but Emily could still see where the unsub had sliced straight through muscle, fat and tendon, right the way down to the bone. The cut was deep.

"No hesitation marks," Rossi said, though he needn't have. Emily nodded, nonetheless.

"And with a wound like that, the unsub didn't have to be so vicious. Chances of survival after having your throat cut are next to none; he enjoyed it. That's why it's so violent." Emily had seen enough from this victim. The coroner covered her up and they moved on.

"His wounds are shallower," She commented, immediately upon seeing them. The channel that had been etched into the husband's throat hadn't ripped quite as deep. There were shallower cuts, still, running this way and that. Hesitation marks. "Here, the unsub seems to lose some of their confidence."

The second couple told the same story. Her wound was deep. It felt almost personal. The unsub had tried to inflict maximum damage. The husband's wound was definitely more confident than the first husband, but still, it was evident that whoever had taken the knife to his throat had done so with some hesitation.

"There's an absence of rage in the killing's of the husbands," Rossi was saying, "The unsub kills the wives with such savagery, but seems almost reluctant to turn the knife on the husbands."

Emily looked across at Rossi, raising an eyebrow, challenging, almost. Inside, a warm smugness was coursing through her chest, and she had to acknowledge that, given the circumstances, now was hardly the time for smugness. In fact, it was rather inappropriate. But, she couldn't wait to tell him.

"Yeah," Rossi agreed, without her having to say the words, "Hotch has some apologising to do."

* * *

**I hope you're all keeping safe and well. Have a chapter, to take your mind off the shit hole that is the world right now x**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Emily watched the muscle in Hotch's jaw jump as they spoke. His arms were folded tight across his chest, his feet positioned at 10 and 2, his eyes focusing entirely Dave as they explained what they had found. He looked like Hotch always did. Except for that muscle that was repeatedly pulsing. It began in the hollow of his cheek, where his bone were chiseled and travelled down to his jawline, where his stubble had started to come through. He hadn't looked at her once since they enterred the office that the local police force had set up for them to work out of. JJ and Spence were still at the latest crime scene, though they had not long called to say they would be heading back soon. Morgan was nodding along with everything Dave was saying.

"And, going through the report again last night, there were several other things I picked up on that-"

"How do we know the unsub isn't simply taking all of his rage out on the wives because of rage he harbours for a maternal figure in his own life?" Hotch cut across her and Emily choked down her words, eyes growing wide with indignation as anger flared in her chest. She steadied herself, remaining quiet while he spoke, when what she desperately wanted to do was tell him to shut up and listen.

"There is always that possibility," Morgan agreed, "Maybe the wives were the targets all along. The husbands could just be collateral damage; in the way and needing to be taken out of the equation. It might have nothing to do with them at all."

"Then why are they dead?" Emily challenged him. Seeing Morgan's expression, the way his dark brow furrowed, she knew she had snapped at him. Knew it wasn't his fault she was mad. Knew she had to reign it in and be professional. "I just mean," she continued, more gently, "that we've seen cases like this before where only one spouse, the prime target, was murdered. If he didn't want to kill the husbands, he didn't have to. It feels, like Rossi said, like two killers. Not one unsub working alone."

She glanced at Hotch, who was staring down at the floor. She could practically hear the cogs turning inside his brain, trying to find another way to spin this so she wouldn't be right.

"And, as I was saying, while going through the report last night, there were several other things that only made me feel more strongly that we've got a team here."

"We think so, too," JJ announced, as she and Spence walked through the door.

"The message on the wall was angry, full of rage and violent," Reid explained, as he pinned several photographs up onto the board, "But the handwriting is hesitant. See where it trails off at the end? Where some letters have been started, but barely finished?"

"We think our couple is a male and a female. We think he's telling her what to write and she's following his orders." JJ explained.

"It would make sense," Rossi agreed with her, "If he's killing the wives, that corrolates with the rage behind the messages they leave behind."

"And if he's forcing her to kill the husbands and write the messages, that explains why both show signs of hesitation." Emily was more grateful to Reid and JJ in that moment than she thought she ever had been before. Hotch still wasn't looking at her, but he was nodding.

Relief flooded through Emily, but with it came indignance. Some of the anger still remained, too. Only yesterday, he had told her he'd recommended her to lead the unit if he was promoted. Now he was questioning her judgement and second guessing her in front of the team, undermining each theory she came up with and cutting across her sentences. The rage she felt was familiar and, with a lurch, she remembered the scene in his office. It was with a sickening feeling in her stomach that Emily wondered if that was why Hotch was acting this way. Did he think that if he got her all riled up and angry again, then he could get into her pants? The thought was ludicrous and, yet, Emily couldn't help but wonder, as she looked at Hotch. Finally, his eyes found hers. They weren't angry or lustful, but they were full of a sort of curiosity. She almost wanted to ask him what the hell was going on, but the last time she'd done that, they hadn't gotten very far by the way of an answer.

Hotch was spared from having to respond to any of them with more than a nod when one of the officers came into the room. His face was grave; they all knew what he was going to say before the words had left his lips.

"We've had a third break in. Three dead." He said, to their surprise.

"Three?"

"One of our Ubsubs." Hotch said, with a solemn and low voice, as they looked down at the body.

The other two victims told the story they were familiar with; her would was deep and personal, her own shallow, even more hesitant this time.

"It took a long time for her to bleed out," They had been told by the paramedic, "The other woman was dead before she was."

JJ closed her eyes against the images, but they were already in her head. She pondered over the situation, and how their Unsub had ended up as one of their victims.

"What are you thinking?" Hotch asked, looking at her curiously.

"I'm thinking he lost patience with her. Clearly he's got a lot more anger than her and f she wasn't... _performing_ as well as he had hoped, he could have gotten irritated one too many times and..." She gestured to the covered body on the floor inbetween them.  
Hotch was nodding. "I had the same theory. Lets take it back to the team and see what they think."

"Our dearly departed lady unsub is Miranda Lipa," Garcia's melodic voice omitted from the tablet in the middle of the table, "Here's the rub guys; she's squeaky clean. Married, mother of two, receptionist for a law firm downtown. I know I'm not a profiler, but there is nothing here that screams _psychopathic killer_ to me, anyone else?"

Food wrappers littered the table. Emily sucked absently on the straw of her milkshake as Morgan spoke to the tablet.

"Baby girl did you say married? Do we think the second partner is the husband?" He put to the group.

"I knew you'd say that so I dug into him and he is also squeaky clean, aside from a couple of sneaky credit card bills that I get the feeling Mrs. Lipa didn't know anything about. And he has an alibi; he was at work all morning." Penelope always had the answers, before the questions had even enterred any of their heads.

"Whoa, whoa, backtrack," JJ said, setting down her cup and leaning forwards, "Go back to the credit card bills. Why wouldn't she know about them?"

"Well, that is unless he was spending several nights a month with _her_ at five star hotels, and in which case she was a very lucky woman. But if that had been the case, I don't think he'd be drowning in the kind of credit card debt that makes me squirm even though it's not my debt."

"So he was cheating on her," Emily pointed out, aloud, though she need not have. They were all thinking it.

"Yeah," Hotch replied, "And we need to find out who with. JJ, get him in here as soon as you can."

"On it."

As soon as you can ended up being several hours later and there wasn't much for the team to do in the meantime. When Mr Lipa enterred the station, his eyes were glassy and there was a dazed expression on his face that Emily had seen enough times before to recognise it as shock. Behind him trailed two children. JJ looked at her and, in her friends eyes, Emily saw a reflection of her own sadness. She estimated that the little girl and boy could be no more than six and three, respectively. The blonde haired little boy was in his father's arms and holding tightly onto a stuffed blue bunny rabbit.

"Mr Lipa," Emily approached him, reaching out a hand to shake his. His grip was tight, but his hand shook a little. "We've got a room set up where we'd like to speak to you, please. This is SSA Jennifer Jareau, she can look after the children, if that's alright with you."

"Do you guys wanna come with me and find a snack?" JJ smiled down at the little girl, who regarded her for a moment and then took her hand. The little boy clung to his father, and stared at JJ with distrustful eyes.

"You know," JJ told him, "My son, Henry, he has blonde, floppy hair just like yours." She tried him with a second smile and, reluctantly, the little boy went into her arms and Emily watched JJ lead the children towards the station's kitchen.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr Lipa," Emily commented, as she led him into the interview room, "Special Agent Hotchner will be with us in just a moment but I just wanted to offer my condolences."

She was watching him closely for a reaction. Genuine though her sympathy was, there was still a piece of her that judged him for being unfaithful to his wife. She had to remind herself that she was impartial. She didn't know the inside-outs of their marriage. But, having been cheated on before, she couldn't excuse it.

"Mr Lipa, thank you for coming in," Hotch repeated her action from earlier, shaking his hand, "I'm terribly sorry for your loss. Please, have a seat."

Hotch did most of the talking, while Emily watched Mr Lipa, waiting for him to trip up, waiting for him to lie. He didn't. He told his story plainly, and by the end of it, Emily didn't like the man at all. She felt for him, for the children, mostly, but she didn't like him.

"So, the woman you were involved with, is she also married?" Hotch pressed. His voice was impassive, but Emily could see the flat line that his lips pressed into after asking the question, and knew that he was just as incensed by the man in front of them as she was.

He nodded. "Michelle. Yeah, she is. But she's not happy, either-" He spoke quickly, as though he could sense their distaste and was trying to quell it.

"Why?" Emily pressed, not willing to let him explain himself any further. "Why isn't she happy?"

"He's...Ryan, he's been known to have one drink too many and..." He trailed off.

Fascinating, Emily pondered, how he was happy enough to sleep with the mans wife behind their spouses backs, but he couldn't bad mouth him to law enforcement.

"And?" Hotch prompted him.

"And, he's hit her a couple of times."

Emily and Hotch exchanged a look. She was on her feet and immediately exiting the room, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

"Garcia?" She spoke into the phone, cutting across the blonde's usual cheery greeting, "I need you to find somebody for me."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"He's going after his wife," Hotch spoke calmly to the congregation. Here was a man who had done this a million times over, and though each situation was different, his steady demeanour was the same, time after time. Emily could feel the usual rush of adrenaline in her veins beginning already. She knew that in front of the officers that looked to them for guidance, she would seem as calm as Hotch. But, like every time before this one, she could feel her palms beginning to sweat. Absently, she picked at her fingernails as she listened to him speak.

That was her tell. They each had their own, and Emily knew them well by now, and noticed as each one began. They brought her comfort. JJ tugged at the ends of her sleeves. Morgan crossed his arms, but shifted his weight from one foot to the other every now and again. Rossi was quiet, but his eyes were never still. Reid was perched on the edge of a table, chewing the end of his pen. As for Hotch, his was more subtle. As his arms folded across his chest and his hands slipped beneath his forearms, Emily watched his fingers drum against his suit jacket. She counted. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Always the same pattern. His rhythm. Perhaps, she thought, it calmed him as much as paying attention to the rest of them calmed her. She noticed it; whenever one of them was gone. And she hated it. It threw off her routine and it threw her off her game. But today, the whole team was here. Nothing went wrong when they were all here.

The house was everything she had suspected. Big, suburban, two relatively new cars parked right out front. Plus a third car; the one that had belonged to Miranda. Knowing what they would likely find inside, Emily and JJ made their way around back while Hotch and Rossi went in through the front door. Reid covered the front garden, Morgan the back, each of them flanked by a few of the local's, just in case he made it past the rest of the team. It wasn't likely, but it was possible.

Silently, Emily and JJ approached the back door. It was a routine they were familiar with, and they spoke with their eyes. JJ tried to door handle, with no luck, and Emily produced a pick from her back pocket. Holstering her gun, she crouched and went to work on the lock, JJ covering her back at all times. Hearing the click, she cracked the door open an inch and listened. She could definitely hear raised voices, but they were muffled and she couldn't make out what was being said. Standing up and stepping back, she nodded to JJ.

_I've got your back. _

JJ entered first, and they met Hotch and Rossi in the hallway. Now, they could hear what was being said.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out, Michelle?" Ryan's voice was tight with anger. He was shouting over Michelle's sobs. "How long were you going to keep fucking him? Huh? What about the kids? How do I explain to them that mommy is a goddamn whore?"

Again, their movements were silent. They followed Hotch's lead and he went first, entering the room with his gun stretched before him, but his voice was as calm as ever.

"Ryan Foulder," Emily heard him speak, but didn't look at him as she entered the room behind him. The four of them immediately spread out, slowly but surely surrounding Ryan and Michelle, who was kneeling on the rug in the middle of the lounge.

Emily chanced a glance at her and, just like Andrew Lipa, she was conflicted. Nobody deserved to endure the fear that Emily could see etched onto her face in the tear tracks that raced down her cheeks. But there was pain in Ryan's eyes, as well as anger. Then, Emily remembered his abusive past, and her sympathy for him evaporated.

"Ryan, put down the knife and come with us," Hotch told him. "Put it down, come with us and this all goes away, okay?"

Like all unsubs, when surrounded by the feds, Ryan now looked a little like an animal stuck in headlights. He was caught, he knew it. This was the moment. This was why Emily's palms sweated, why JJ picked her sleeves, why Morgan was so shifty, why Spence bit his pen lid, why Rossi's eyes flickered constantly and why Hotch tapped.

_Fight or flight._

But, Emily knew, there was a third option. Surrender. _God, please, surrender._ Her finger was poised over the trigger, but Emily didn't want to pull it. She never wanted to pull it.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. There had been times when she'd had to restrain herself. Foyet, Doyle, Hastings. But they were different. They were personal. This wasn't. This was business.

"Stay back," Ryan did what she had seen unsubs do a thousand times over. _Fight. _He gripped Michelle's red hair tightly and roughly and yanked her to her feet. Emily felt the scream ricochet against her eardrums and grit her teeth against the sound, knowing the pain of that motion, feeling it in the roots of her scalp.

"Let her go, Ryan," Hotch tried again, but Ryan only pressed the knife to her throat. It was red with blood, and Emily's eyes raked over Michelle's form. She saw no blood on the woman. Looking at the knife again, the different shades of red along the blade told the story. That wasn't Michelle's blood. It was Miranda's. Miranda's, and the third couple's, blood.

"I know what she did, Ryan," Emily tried, and his eyes moved to her, "I know she betrayed you. She hurt you. She broke your trust. And your heart."

His hand was starting to shake. Catching sight of a family picture on the mantle behind him, Emily carried on. Hotch cast a glance at her, but didn't interrupt this time.

"She...she was with him," Ryan spat, pressing the knife closer to Michelle's neck. Emily saw pearls of fresh, red blood begin to bead there and took a cautionary step towards him.

"I know," She nodded, speaking softly, "And she deserves to be punished. But, you know who doesn't deserve to be punished? Your two beautiful little boys. Don't take both of their parents away."

Something in Ryan's eyes changed for a moment. They softened around the edges. The arm holding Michelle against him slackened and the hand holding the knife fell. With a sob, Michelle launched herself across the room towards Emily.

"No-" The collective shout of the team was drowned by a yowl of anger from Ryan, followed by the blast of a shot being fired. Emily barely heard any of it as she caught Michelle in her arms, and immediately felt a searing pain tear across her arm.

* * *

She hated hospitals. Everybody hated hospitals, she knew. But Emily _really_ hated hospitals. There was that sterile smell again. The smell they used to cover sickness and death and disease. It was, in many ways, worse, because everybody knew what it was used for. Having been here for three hours, Emily was ready to leave. Her arm was bandaged, she'd had her shots and been checked over by two doctors, both of whom had given her the O-K.

"Yeah, been there, done it all." She had told one of them, when he had remarked that it was surprising that she didn't appear to be suffering from shock. "Takes a lot more than this to shock me. Believe me, I've lived through worse."

It was irritating, at Emily's age, to know that she couldn't even leave a hospital by herself. Hotch had left orders that Emily was not to be released until one of them could be there to collect her. Emily had been in too much pain at the time to protest, but now she was all sewn up, felt perfectly fine and felt her annoyance was justified.

And she couldn't stop thinking about Ryan and Michelle. Once upon a time, they must have been happy. If only for a short window, at the very beginning, there must have been a time before he was abusive, before she cheated on him, before their two little boys were born, when they were in love. In love enough to get married and decide to bring life into the world together. Wasn't that how it was supposed to work?

As she sat and waited to be picked up, Emily thought about all the people in relationships that made them unhappy, for whatever reason. And all of the people who ought to be together, but weren't, or couldn't, for whatever reason.

Of course, the question had enterred her head; was that what she and Hotch were doing? She had swatted the thought away as quickly as it had appeared. She wasn't in love with Hotch. In lust, certainly. And, never one to shy away from her own charms, Emily wasn't afraid to assume that Hotch felt the same way about her. But sexual desire wasn't the same as wanting to spend the rest of your life with somebody. Honestly, when she thought about spending the rest of her life with Hotch, and it was a fleeting thought that left her as swiftly as it had arrived, it was nothing but terrifying.

She was in the middle of this contemplation when the knock came at her hospital door. Of course.

"Ready?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sweeping up her jacket and discarded vest, Emily frowned at him as she stood up. "It's about time. You didn't have to come and pick me up, you know. I got grazed by a knife, I didn't get shot."

"Last time we sent you to a hospital, you flatlined on the table," Hotch reminded her, strolling beside her towards the exit of the hospital. "Forgive me for taking precautions."

She was about to respond with a snarky comment, but the expression on Hotch's face stopped her in her tracks. He wasn't making a joke, as she had thought. He was deadly serious. Her words caught in her throat and Emily floundered for a moment, not knowing hot to respond to that statement. He wasn't wrong, after all. The rest of the team had all expressed their feelings about her 'death'. All except him. He had been the architect of it, after all, along with Jayje. Embarassed, Emily realised she had never stopped to consider his feelings on the matter.

"We've never talked about that," She told him, quietly. The silence was his response. He clearly didn't want to change that fact right now.

The atmosphere contrasted so strongly with the last time they were in a car together that Emily almost giggled out of nerves. Her bandaged arm was beginning to twinge and she pulled out the pack of painkillers the doctor had given her.

"Hey, 'alcohol to be consumed in moderation'," She celebrated, grateful that she would at least be able to have a nightcap to send her to sleep tonight. Even if it wasn't the usual copious amounts of alcohol they usually drank after a case, to keep the nightmares at bay, and send them all into a dark, dreamless sleep, it was better than having to go to bed sober; something she had also experienced many a time.

"Ryan?" She asked, after a short silence, apprehensive of the answer.

Hotch's grip on the steering wheel tightened. That was all the answer she needed and Emily returned her gaze to the road.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Maybe there would be nightmares, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

There were a lot of occasions when Emily had been grateful for her team. Tonight was no exception. As they gathered around their table in the bar, having had a delicious lunch in one of the restaurants in town (courtesy of Rossi's latest book tour, of course), she could almost forget the day they were leaving behind. It was always like this.

That, she thought, was why Hotch never protested to them having one too many drinks the night they ended a case. It was a stress-reliever and a release for them all. They needed their downtime; their time to have fun together and to just be a family. Not a family having to watch each other's backs all of the time. Just a family who could buy a round of drinks, give a toast to Emily always being the one who got injured, play a guessing game of how much money Rossi's latest book had made and, of course-

"Truth or dare?" JJ was pointing a finger across the table at Morgan. Her eyes were slightly misty, but her hand was steady. Emily, who was trying to make her cider last longer than she'd ever had a drink last before, was definitely the most sober one at the table. She thought she might retire to her room soon, maybe find something on TV to watch and lull her to sleep. It was nice to spend time with them, but being the only sober one was always a buzzkill.

"Alright, blondie," Morgan responded, never one to shy away from a challenge, "I'll take the challenge. Dare."

JJ cast a glance around the bar, her face tight with concentration as she looked for her target.

"I dare you to go and get her number," JJ was pointing at a young blonde across the bar. She was surrounded by friends, and sporting a _Birthday Girl_ badge. Morgan rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer. Nudging Reid in the side, he gestured towards the girls .

"Watch and learn, brainbox," He practically swaggered over to the girls and, sure enough, upon his return, he threw the number down into the middle of the table.

"Piece of cake," He proclaimed. JJ looked more disappointed than she did impressed, and cast a disapproving glance at Emily, who could only laugh in response.

"Hey, usually, I'm with you on this," She held her hands up, "But tonight, you encouraged the whoring, so I'm not engaging in any judgemental eye rolling." _Besides_, she thought, catching Hotch's eye across the table, _I'm hardly innocent myself._

"Your turn, old timer," Morgan told Rossi, who looked affronted by the nickname.

"Old timer? Call me when you're my age; I don't have to go asking for numbers, kid. They come to me." There was a round of whooping around the table which calmed only when Morgan raised his voice slightly.

"Alright, alright." Morgan looked Rossi square in the face, "Truth or Dare."

Knowing what they were going to ask, Rossi figured he was safe enough this round. "Go on, then. Truth."

"You know what we want to know, Dave," Hotch commented, smirking over the top of his beer. Emily liked to see that expression on his face. It was relaxed; the smile lines around his eyes showed up and his whole demeanour shifted. He seemed younger, less weighed down. She liked that.

"Just tell us how many digits," JJ prompted, leaning in eagerly.

"Let's just say I'm looking into buying a condo on South Beach," He responded, tipping his glass of whiskey in her direction.

"Don't you already have a condo in Cali?" Morgan asked, incredulously.

"See, in all my years," Rossi continued, "I've never been able to decide which coast I like best. So, I figure, why choose when I can have both?"

There was no whooping this time. Just respectful silence and nodding. Then JJ stood up.

"I'm going to order another round on you, then," She said, clapping her hands down on Rossi's shoulders.

"None for me, Jayje," Emily called after her, as the blonde disappeared into the crowd. "Painkillers." She said, by way of explanation, as Morgan's face fell as he groaned, disappointed.

"Ah, but you're the life of the party, princess."

"Well, I'm afraid your party's going to have to go on life support tonight you guys," She jested. Again, she saw the effect of the joke ripple around the table as their faces shifted in the same way Hotch's had done at the hospital. "Oh, come on, guys, it's a joke."

"It's not so funny when you've lived it," Reid mumbled, suddenly very interested in the stem of his wine glass.

Emily was momentarily stunned, as she looked around at them. For almost a year, she had been back, and none of them had ever spoken of it. With the exception of Reid's outbursts towards JJ just after she'd gotten back, everybody had taken it in their stride. Or so she had thought.

"I did live it, Reid," She said, shortly, "Remember?"

His face said that he did remember. They all remembered, very well.

JJ returned, holding a tray of drinks, and the smile on her face fell away when she happened upon their uncomfortable silence. Casting a look around the table, taking in each expression, she set the tray down and slid back into her seat. Still the drunkest one there, and unable to whisper at the best of times, she leaned into Emily and stage-whispered.

"What did I miss?"

"Nothing, blondie," Morgan interrupted, "I believe it's Rossi's turn."

"Right. Hotch," Rossi continued, attempting to smooth over the awkward moment, as JJ handed out the drinks, including the pint of cider Emily had asked her not to get.

"I didn't hear you," She explained, when Emily pointed this out. "Loud music, loud bar, _quiet_ little Emily voice." She explained, speaking in a high pitch and holding her finger and thumb an inch apart to, Emily supposed, demonstrate what that would look like if it were a hand gesture.

Reid had finished his first glass of wine, presumably out of awkwardness, which Emily hated, and reached for his second glass quickly. As he reached for it, he sent it flying across the table. Red wine splattered over the tablecloth.

"Nice one, pipe cleaner," Morgan proclaimed, standing up quickly as the liquid flowed towards him.

"I got it, I got it," JJ produced some napkins from the tray she had brought over and started mopping up, with Rossi's help. Emily was fussing with the wine that had splattered her top, and when she looked up, Reid had disappeared into the crowd, heading back towards the bar.

Catching Hotch's eye across the table, she noticed the minute nod, and stood up to follow the youngest member of the team.

"I thought we'd been through all of this," She told him, rubbing a comforting hand up his back when she found him at the bar, "I thought we were good."

"We are good, we're great," He told her, in that quiet voice she knew so well. Still, he didn't look at her.

"I've told you before, Reid," She said, "I'm sorry. We handled it the best way we could at the time; Hotch and JJ had to think on their feet. If they hadn't..." She hesitated over her words. The truth was sometimes the most difficult thing to admit. "If they hadn't, you might have been burying me for real."

"I know," He said, handing his credit card across the bar as the barman placed a fresh glass of red in front of him, "I know all of this. But that doesn't take any of it away. It doesn't take away the months of missing you, the nights of crying to JJ, the trips I took to your grave and all of the flowers I left there for you. I spoke to your headstone, Emily," He had told her all of this before, but Emily nodded, recognising his need to share it now, "It doesn't take away the fear that, one day, it might be real. One day, you might not come back."

Emily was quiet for a long moment, her hand still softly stroking his back, before she pulled him into a hug. His arms tightened around her and Emily felt her ribs complain, but she didn't tell him. She let him hug her, long and hard, and when he let her go, she made him look her in the eyes.

"That's the job," She told him. It was a line she'd said many times before, and it still held all of the weight it had the first time someone had said it to her. "It's no different to all of the times we've thought we could lose you. I hate it when we're out in the field and I worry about you guys more than I worry about our victims, but that's the job and that's family. But you have to know that, if I do go away again, it won't be because of some elaborate scheme we've had to put in place. I'll never leave you for good."

Reid was nodding, and Emily saw acceptance in his eyes. He was, for now, reassured.

"I mean, you know, until I really do leave you for good," She lolled her head to the side and stuck out her tongue. That elicited a smile, and almost a laugh, from the younger agent. "Now, stop ruining our night. Drink your wine, and lets go find out what Rossi has planned for Hotch."

Arriving back at the table, they found the wine mopped up, Morgan pleading with Hotch. JJ looked slightly confused, like she didn't know how she ought to be responding.

"Come on, man," Morgan was saying, "You chose Truth; now you gotta do it, or accept the forfeit."

"Whoa, whoa, what did we miss?" Emily asked, as she slid back into her seat. Her first glass of cider was now miraculously empty; she supposed that was JJ's roundabout way of apologising for buying her an extra drink, and suppressed a short laugh as she pulled the second large glass to her lips.

"Hotch chose Truth, so I simply asked if there are any special ladies in his life at the moment that he's keeping mum about."

Emily nearly choked. Quick as a flash, even in her inebriated state, JJ's hand shot out and whacked her on the back, probably a little harder than she needed to, but it did the trick.

"Thanks," She muttered to JJ, "Sorry. Wrong tube."

_Profilers. You're sitting at a table full of profilers. Don't look at Hotch. Do not look at Hotch. JJ stop looking at me. JJ stop looking at me. Jennifer Jareau, I swear to god-_

"Not since Haley," Hotch responded, shortly. He raised his beer to his lips and, on that note, was finished with his truth telling.

Emily didn't know what to feel. She saw JJ cast a glance between the two of them, finally looking away from Emily, but she checked the expression on her own face; it didn't flicker. She shared the look of absent curiosity that graced Morgan and Reid's faces. Even Rossi seemed satisfied with the answer.

It bothered her. Emily hated that it did. She knew why he'd given that answer, or at least, she thought she did. But it bothered her. If not for the giant glass of cider sitting in front of her, and the entire team of profilers sitting around her, Emily would have excused herself to bed. She no longer wanted to sit at this table. Even though she _knew_ he had to give that answer, even though she kept telling herself there was nothing more than lust between them, it _bothered _her.

"Your turn, boss," Morgan told Hotch, "Reid or Princess, who you going to pick on?"

The last thing Emily expected was for Hotch to choose her. So, when he looked directly at her, her eyes narrowed in warning.

_Don't you-_

_"_Prentiss," He said. levelly, "Truth or dare."


	11. Chapter 11

** Chapter Eleven**

She felt five pairs of eyes on her and, in that moment, she hated him. Hated him for putting her in this position, hated him for staring at her like that. Hated him for the way it made her heart pound and her underwear dampen. Either way, she was choosing dare. By playing with him, by letting him play with her like this, she was choosing dare. She was daring him to finish what he had started, and he was daring her to be brave enough to take him on. Choosing dare would be the easy way out of this, for the both of them. He started it; she wasn't going to let him take the easy way out. If he wanted to play games, she would win them every time. He needed to learn that early on.

Barely missing a beat, Emily responded in kind, "Truth."

The rest of them were looking between the two, interested, bemused, but not suspicious. Only JJ knew anything was up. And Hotch didn't know JJ knew. And suddenly, there was an entirely new layer to their little problem that Emily hadn't even considered.

"Same question, then," He said, smirking, "Anybody special in your life?"

What an _ass_. She wanted to say, _hell no_, just to rub it in his face. Hotch had very clearly had one too many beers if he thought this was funny. It wasn't. She wasn't smirking back at him and trying not to get caught up in the laughter that rippled around the table. Their flirting was nothing new; Emily flirted with everybody. To the others, this was standard night out behaviour. JJ,who knew much more than the rest of them, was glancing between the two of them and looking like she'd just walked in on her parents humping. Emily hadn't dropped Aaron's gaze the whole time.

"You wouldn't know him," She responded, raising her glass to her lips to punctuate her sentence.

"Oh, damn, princess," Morgan exhaled, heavily, "You've been holding out on us."

"I don't kiss and tell," She smirked over at him, and from beside her, JJ let out one blast of laughter.

"Ha!" Her smile was fixed in place, but the eyes that met Emily's were panicked and apologetic all at once. Emily shook her head, minutely, but it was too late. From across the table, she saw Hotch take it all in. _Shit. JJ, you're dead. I'm dead. Reid's really gonna hate it if we're both dead._

"And, on that note," She announced, taking the final swig of her cider, "I'm going to bed. Don't be up too late," JJ wrapped her arms around her middle to cuddle her, and Emily pressed a kiss to her blonde crown, "Make sure these two get to bed safely," She said as she hugged Rossi, indicating JJ and Reid, who she kissed on the cheek. "And, Morgan, don't take that girl to bed," she pointed towards the number on the table, which was now soaked and stained with red wine. "You'll end up with herpes or something just as unpleasant."

"Not my first rodeo, princess," Morgan announced, and from his pocket, be produced several condoms. "Ribbed, for her pleasure."

"You're a pig," She told him, affectionately, as she blew a loving kiss across the table. Morgan caught it and pressed it to his heart, where he drew a cross.

"You wound me." He joked, with a grin.

"Night, Hotch," She said, reluctantly. It would have seemed stranger if she hadn't bid him goodnight, so she did. He nodded in her direction, muttered something about _"sleep well"_ and then she was walking out of the bar.

"Take your meds," She heard, from behind her, and smiled to herself. He did care.

The ride up to their floor was _very_ different to her ride the evening before, but when she collapsed into her bed, naked but for an oversized t-shirt, Emily didn't even get a chance to lament her lack of intimacy today. Her eyes were closed before her head even hit the pillow.

* * *

Her sleep wasn't dreamless, but it was dark. She was walking, looking for something. What, she didn't know. All she knew was she hadn't found it yet. It was important. Where had she left it? Stretching her hands out in front of her, she tried to feel her way through the darkness. Every time she took a step, she thought she was going to hit something, but she never did. She walked, endlessly, through the dark silence. Then she heard the knocking. Where was it coming from? Her left? Her right? Her door?

_Her door?_

"Emily," the voice that accompanied the knocking finally brought her out of her sleep and Emily threw back her duvet, making her way to her bedroom door. She knew it was Hotch, but she peered through the peephole anyway. His tie was discarded, hanging out of his breast pocket, and his white shirt was open by three buttons and stained with what she could only suppose was Reid's red wine and his beer. He was leaning against her door frame with one arm, the other thrust deep into his trouser pocket. His hair was dishevelled. It was like James Bond had turned up at her hotel room door.

Emily had the fleeting, wild concern that she ought to check her appearance in the mirror, but she rolled her eyes internally at the thought, which made her feel like a flirty teenager, and unlocked the door.

"Hotch, do you know that it's," She leaned backwards to check the clock on the bedside table, hidden from view as it was, by the corner, "2:33am?"

"I didn't mean it," He said, mumbling more than speaking, so Emily had to ask him to repeat what he had said. "I didn't mean it," He said, loudly, "You are special. And you are in my life."

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. Amused as she was, she also thought it incredibly sweet that, in his inebriated state, Hotch had though it necessary to clarify this with her. At half past two in the morning. She supposed that, come the morning, the moment would have passed. Sober, _Agent_ Hotchner would never confront her like this and speak so candidly. She wondered just how many beers he'd had, if he was only just coming upstairs to bed. She'd left them a little over two hours ago.

"I don't know what to say," She said, truthfully, still standing beside the door. Her legs were cold and she was suddenly aware of her state of undress. Crossing her legs, awkwardly, she waited to see if Hotch had anything else to say, or if he would disappear to his room, and leave this conversation as one they need never speak of again.

He did look as though he might speak, for a moment. His lips moved, pouted, almost, and then he leaned in. Panic flared inside of Emily. But he wasn't trying to kiss her. Instead, he lunged into her hotel room, tore open the bathroom door and, a moment later, Emily heard the retching and grimaced.

_James Bond never vomited in his dates bathrooms. _

When he emerged from the bathroom, it was to find Emily sitting on the edge of her bed. She'd located one of the hotel's fluffy towels in the wardrobe and had tied it tight around herself. It was still too warm in her hotel room, but, and perhaps it was silly given their recent history, she was uncomfortable being so undressed around him.

"Sorry about that," He told her, indicating the bathroom behind him. She shook her head and held out the glass of water she had poured for him. He swallowed it down, gratefully, and sat beside her on the bed, maintaining enough distance, she supposed, so as not to offend her with vomit breath.

Truthfully, all she could smell was all of the alcohol he had consumed that evening. Even on their wildest nights, though, Emily had never seen Hotch throw up.

"Feel better?" She asked, and he nodded, a tiny little nod, "That was kind of gross."

Wiping a hand over his face and through his mussed up hair, Emily could tell he was embarrassed. He began apologising again, but when he looked up at her, she had a fist pressed against her teeth to keep from laughing. As soon as she saw he shocked expression on his face, she couldn't hold it anymore and burst into raucous laughter. When she calmed down, and wiped away the tears that had sprung to the corners of her eyes, Hotch had the slightest smile on his face.

"You sound like a sorority girl when you throw up," She teased, and proceeded to mimic the noise he had made. It wasn't pretty, but it was funny, and it sent her right back into the giggles. James Bond certainly never blushed the way Hotch did in that moment, burning pink right up to the tips of his ears.

"Lemme alone," He mumbled, looking down at his hands, which were holding the now empty glass of water, though he was smiling.

"You've got to get some sleep, or you'll be grouchy in the morning," She told him, taking the glass from him and crossing the room to set it down on the dresser.

For a moment, Hotch didn't move. He was staring at her floor, elbows resting on his knees, and Emily worried for a moment that he was going to be sick again, this time all over her carpet. And how would she explain that? Because, of course, they couldn't tell them it was Hotch. She would have to take the heat for it, and Morgan would have an absolute field day with the information. She'd never live it down.

He wasn't sick, though. He just couldn't look at her for what he needed to say next.

"It wasn't just Reid, you know," He said, so quietly that she almost missed it. Confused, she didn't prompt him. She waited for him to speak again, knowing he might not. Leaning against the wall, she waited.

"Who missed you, I mean." He carried on, finally. Slowly. There was a sincerity in his voice that made her want to weep. "I knew you were alive. I think that was worse. Knowing you were out there and not being able to see you...hear your voice."

Emily wondered if, come the morning, Hotch would be happy knowing he had confessed all of this to her. Her heart was pounding in her chest again, for an entirely different reason than earlier in the evening.

"You were always just...around." He continued, turning to look at her. His face was bright, and he was almost smiling, as though reminiscing on an old memory. "Way back to when I worked for your mother and you were this...beautiful, sexy little college girl who bounced her way around the estate without a care in the world. You didn't even look at me, back then. Then, years later, there you are, in my office. Still gorgeous and smart and so intelligent. And then you were just...gone."

His train of thought seemed to leave him again, but Emily was still trying to sort her way through his statements. She didn't even know he remembered her from that Summer. _You didn't even look at me_. If only he knew, she thought, sardonically. She certainly remembered him; back then, he had been the tall, dark Agent that was out of her reach. He had made her feel like a child. Her crush had been nothing more than a school girl crush; the kind that never could, or would, be reciprocated. Or so she had thought. That was why she bounded around the estate, clad in outfits that Mother greatly disapproved of. To get his attention. She had succeeded, it appeared. What might have happened, she wondered, if either of them had the courage to act on their impulses back then?

_Nothing,_ she reminded herself. _He was with Haley back then._

"It was...not being able to see you and talk to you, not knowing if you were alright. We kept tabs but we weren't allowed to know too much. I...dammit, I missed you, Emily."

He was on his feet in an instant. All signs of his drunkenness was gone, as he neared her. He slammed his hands into the wall either side of her head, and Emily gasped, a bolt of excitement, and a lick of fear, coursing through her.

"I wanted to kill him," Hotch growled, so deeply that she could feel the rumble in his chest, that's how closely he stood to her. "I wanted to strangle the life out of him so you could come home. I wished him dead a million times over. But I didn't just want him dead. I wanted to do it myself."

The venom in his voice, the anger in his eyes, scared her. She knew he was telling the truth. She had been there; she had wanted Doyle dead, too. But the expression on Hotch's face was one she had only seen once before. When he was beating the life out of Foyet on his own dining room floor. It was terrifying to see that look on his face again. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. Up close, she could see the glazed look in his eyes. Come the morning, she wondered if he would even remember this episode. His lips hovered over hers and Emily could feel his breath tickle her skin. That wasn't how she had wanted this to go.

"Hotch," She whispered, calmly, as his lips drew dangerously close to her own, "We can't. You're drunk."

"I know," He admitted. "I know, but I wish I wasn't." He chuckled darkly, and the anger subsided as quickly as it had appeared, misty brown eyes boring into her own, "Or, if I'm wishing for things, maybe I wish you were."

She smiled, blushing, and put a hand on his chest. Feeling the wall of muscle beneath her hand, it took much more willpower than she had expected to press against his chest, rather than pulling him towards her, as she really wanted to do. He stepped away from her, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. He was the one who looked like the child, now. Like one who's been scolded by his teacher.

"I missed you, too."

He caught her eyes again, held them for longer, this time. There was a lot that passed between them in that moment. None of it passed their lips, none of it was spoken aloud. Their eyes spoke for them. Emily felt like she saw more of Aaron in that moment than she had in all of the years she had known him, and suddenly, the lump was back in her throat. Nodding, he turned and sat down on the bed.

"I'm sorry for being an ass."

Emily laughed out loud, amazed and impressed at the same time. "Words I never thought I would hear you say." She admitted, moving to sit beside him on the bed once more. "What brought the apology on?" She had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew, but she asked anyway.

"Rossi told me I had to apologise." Hotch confessed, and Emily found herself smiling even wider. There was that little boy, again. The one whose teacher kept telling him off. "He said I don't give you enough credit sometimes."

"He's right."

"I nominated you to run the team, Emily," He told her, and she noted that it was the first time he'd used her first name in as long as she could remember, that his voice was steady and strong, and not at all the voice of a drunk man, though that was undoubtedly what Hotch was at this moment in time. "You really think I don't trust you?"

"I think sometimes you don't want me to be right." She told him, and he pondered over her words for a moment. Emily had expected him to shut her down, so watching him consider her words was a new experience for her.

"You're better at the job than I was at your age," He finally declared. She was speechless. "I think sometimes that bothers me." He gave her a look that was almost sheepish, as though he expected her to yell at him, or kick him out. "Is that okay?"

"No," She told him, honestly, nudging his shoulder with her own, "But we can work on it."

That, apparently, was enough of a promise for Hotch, because he subsided into silence. When Emily glanced at the clock again, she saw that it was getting on for 3am, and groaned loudly.

"Now we're both going to be grumpy in the morning," She scolded him, mockingly. "Either lie down, or go to your own bed, whichever, I don't care, as long as you let me sleep."

Hotch looked at her like he couldn't believe what she was saying, but she was standing up and untying the belt of her robe. He averted his eyes in a moment of panic before he remembered she was wearing a long t-shirt. As she pulled back the covers, she looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Well?" She asked, "Which is it?"

"Can I stay?" He asked, sincerely unable to tell whether or not she was joking. In his eyes, she could still see the pain she had caused when she had gone away. It was that pain that made her nod, that pain that had made her say it in the first place. That pain that told her, whatever was going on between them, it needed to end as soon as they were back at Quantico. Because she couldn't inflict that pain on him again, and, with Emily, it was always just around the corner.

She climbed into bed and tried not to watch as Hotch stripped down to his boxers. She didn't like to point out that his bed, and his pyjamas, were less than ten feet away, and through only two very thin doors. When she felt the bed dip with his weight, she had to try and maintain her steady breathing. He kept his distance, but knowing he was there was enough.

"Goodnight, Emily," He spoke, softly, through the darkness.

"Goodnight, Hotch."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

It was the headache that woke him. The familiar, dull, repetitive thud of a hangover headache, across his forehead and behind his ears, drumming against his brain and stirring him from his dreamless slumber. The taste of all the alcohol he had recklessly consumed was still all over his mouth. With a groan, he stretched his arms out wide, then wrapped them around the form beside him, pulling her closer and closing his eyes again, tempted to try for another hours sleep. As he pulled her close, she sighed, content and still fast asleep.

Hotch froze.

He knew that sigh. He knew that scent. Shampoo. _Her_ shampoo.

In a beat, it all came back to him. The game, the drinks, the conversation with Dave. It had been Dave who'd told them all to go to bed, and they had listened. Hotch, however, had found himself pacing back and forth across his hotel room. He had to tell her, he had to. Dave had told him to.

* * *

_"You know, Aaron," Dave said, when they were alone at the table. JJ was up dancing with Reid, who looked both sincerely uncomfortable and as though all of his Christmases had come at once. Morgan had retired earlier, with the pretty blonde whose number JJ had made him get. Dave wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, possibly a little too close for comfort, but given their inebriated state, neither of them minded. "You give Emily too much of a hard time. She's a bright girl. Brighter than I was at her age. Better profiler too. Intelligent e bello. And you're too tough on her sometimes."_

_Hotch wasn't about to argue, because he knew Dave was right. He was lingering on the _bello_ part of Dave's short speech. Beautiful. _

_"Yes, she is," Hotch agreed, nodding, "Better profiler than me, I mean." He covered, too quickly._

_He missed the knowing look in Dave's eyes, but the older profiler said nothing. He wasn't about to interfere in anything that may or may not be going on between the two younger agents. They were adults, although sometimes Emily didn't act like it, when she got involved in Morgan and Reid's pranks, or she and JJ fell about giggling like school girls. Maybe Hotch could do with a little of that lightness. _

_"Tell her," Dave insisted. "Especially this time. You owe her an apology. She was right, after all. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, that woman."_

_"Brilliant," Hotch was nodding, though he had stopped listening, his mind racing backwards in time, to the elevator. "Just, brilliant."_

* * *

He didn't need Dave to tell him she was beautiful. He could see it for himself.

The painted red tips of her fingers grazed his shoulder; her bandaged arm was laid across his chest. The pale of her skin contrasted against his own naturally olive complexion, interrupted only by the bandage wrapped tightly around her upper arm. Her dark hair splayed across his back and over his hand, which he had at some point in the night wrapped around her shoulders. Now, he lifted his hand, gently so as not to disturb her, and let the strands of her hair fall through his fingertips, watching as it shone in the glint of the early morning sun and not quite believing he was living in this moment. The scent of it grew stronger as he disturbed her hair. _Vanilla_. A scent he had come to associate with her. And, like her, it was warm and comforting and sweet.

At some point in the night, probably due to the lack of AC, they had kicked off the covers. Where his arm had ended up behind her back, Emily had wrapped her leg across his waist, pulling them closer still. Hotch wondered which action had happened first. Which of them had needed the closeness in the night, when they both put on such a front of independence in the daylight?

Emily had retained her modesty; the tshirt she was wearing hadn't ridden up too high, although, now, as she shifted, Hotch saw the fabric creep higher still. Slowly stirring, Emily moved. Hotch couldn't not watch as her leg moved down, pressing onto his boxers.

_Thank god for hangovers. _His body was slow to respond this morning, debilitated as he was by his alcohol consumption from the night before, and, although he felt the stirrings of excitement, as long as Emily stayed still, he thought he could control it. Breathe through it. Make it _go away_.

Of course, the moment he thought that, every moment they had shared was suddenly flashing through his brain. From the inciting incident in his office, to the dangerous game on the plane, to the way she looked at him from the floor of the car, to the expression on her face as she fell apart over his fingers.

Now, he really had a problem.

It was hardly his fault, he mused, as his erection grew steadily harder. He had woken to find himself in bed with a beautiful, half naked woman. It was a natural response. As long as he could calm down before she woke up, they'd be fine. They could go back to normal, and she need never know. If she woke up now, she would think he was a pervert. She hadn't invited him into her bed for sex. She probably thought he was going to choke on his own tongue in the night. How had he managed to find himself in this situation?

Hotch had always prided himself on his sense of decorum and professionalism. He was professional to a fault, and sometimes to the detriment of his relationships, romantic and platonic. That, however, appeared to have been thrown out of the window over the past couple of days, he thought. She had an affect on him that neither of them could control, and it was the last thing either of them needed to be dealing with while promotions glared at them from the not-so-distant future.

_Maybe I should wake her_, he thought. That way, she wouldn't think he was some sort of night time pervert, if she woke up to a surprise boner. It would be the first thing she saw, too, given the angle of her head on his chest. What a wake up call that would be.

Discreetly, slowly, silently, Hotch tried to shift himself away from her. No good. Still deep in her slumber, Emily only wrapped her leg tighter around his. This movement finally drew the shirt up high enough that Hotch could just see the rounded orbs of her ass. That didn't help his case at all. Closing his eyes, Hotch raked his free hand (the one not tangled in Emily's hair) down his face. His beard was starting to grow out and would need to be dealt with before the left the hotel today. That, right now, was the least of his problems.

As he considered his options, however, Emily stretched. Her arm stretched out across his chest, then her hand came to rest back on his chest. She was still for a moment, and the next instant, she was tensed like a cat. Hotch didn't say anything. He could feel the stress in her muscles. She was awake, and she was confused. Silently, he gave her the moment to process, to remember, and felt her relax slightly as she turned her head to look at him.

"Good morning?" He asked, uncertainly.

Emily opened her mouth to speak, but was spared the job of doing so when a loud knock came at her bedroom door. They each sprang from the bed like bullets from one of their guns. For a second, they stood, staring at each other, before either of their brains kicked into gear and figured out the next move. Then Hotch was grabbing his clothes from the floor, Emily threw his suit jacket across the room at him, and he disappeared. Into the shared bathroom, and out of the door on the other side, which led to his own hotel room.

It all happened very quickly and, still not fully recovered from the shock of how she had woken up, Emily felt extremely disoriented as she moved to open the door.

"Coffee," JJ groaned, crossing the threshold before Emily had the chance to speak. Rolling her eyes (she was getting a little sick and tired of people not waiting for permission to enter her room), Emily closed the door behind her friend.

"Good morning to you too, Cheeto-breath." Emily greeted, directing JJ towards the kettle and refreshments provided by the hotel. "Make two, while I go and put some clothes on?"

Hotch's door was firmly closed when Emily entered the bathroom, her attire for the day bundled in her arms. That, she thought to herself, was too close of a call. Even JJ, who had a vague idea of something going on between Emily and their boss, would have freaked out, had she walked in on the scene she had interrupted. Emily, herself, was freaking out about it. Setting aside the immediate panic that had gripped her when she woke up and momentarily forgot who she was laying in bed with, the experience had been a rather comfortable one. She vaguely remembered, at some point in the night, rolling over and cuddling up to Hotch. He had gotten rid of the covers, obviously far too warm and, despite the lack of AC, her under-dressed state had left Emily shivering. Hotch was warm, being closer to him made sense. Science.

Her shower was a quick one. Emily kept her hair dry because the thought of having to go through the process of drying it this morning was almost more than she could bear. Instead, once she had climbed out of the shower and dressed, she brushed her hair up into a pony tail. It had curled in the night, but not entirely, so it was a dark, wild mixture of loose waves and bouncy curls, but it was good enough for the plane ride back to Quantico. She couldn't be bothered with make up, either, so that idea was discarded as quickly as it entered her head, and she resigned to do her face on the plane. Or maybe she would sneak into Penelope's den and do it there, whilst hiding from Hotch.

"I hope that coffee's strong, Jayje," Emily announced, as she exited the bathroom and threw her towel and pyjama tshirt onto the bed, "Because I need it."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do." The response confused her and Emily turned to look at JJ.

JJ wasn't at the kettle; the coffee was made and steaming away on the bedside table. The younger agent was standing beside the bed, somewhat near to where Emily remembered picking up Hotch's suit jacket and throwing it to him. She was holding something in her hands. A piece of fabric. A red piece of fabric.

"Oh, fuck."

"Yeah, I guessed as much," JJ said, with an amused and satisfied grin, as she held up Hotch's tie.

* * *

**A/N.**

**fluffy hotch is my second favourite hotch **

**It's 5:12am and I've not slept yet. Lockdown has officially fucked my sleeping pattern, and the creative muse seems to find me in the wee hours of the morning, so here's a chapter for you all. Reviews make me very happy, so if you're interested in leaving one, they're very much appreciated, especially while things are so shitty in general.**

**Hope you're all keeping well during these crazy times, and staying inside if you can. If you're a key worker, I thank and applaud you. If not, and you're doing all you can to social distance, I applaud you, too. If you're ignoring the safety precautions put into place by your government, I hope you stand on a plug today.**

**Steph **


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

The tie in JJ's hand was undeniable, and though a thousand explanations raced through Emily's brain, the expression on her friends face said she had already made her mind up about what had conspired here last night. Her grin was utterly mortifying, and Emily stumbled over trying to find the words to explain the situation. She smiled, awkwardly, and pointed to the tie.

"I can explain that," Emily tried to laugh, but it came out as more of an awkward whimper, "That is...absolutely _not_ what it looks like."

"Oh?" JJ prompted, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows and glancing from Emily to the tie with an expression of mock confusion on her pretty face, "So it's _not_ the tie Hotch was wearing last night?"

Emily's mouth moved, but for a moment, words failed her. "No, okay, yes, it is that." She admitted, crossing the room to JJ and trying to snatch the tie out of the younger agents hand. JJ bounded away from her with a laugh, holding the tie out of reach, "But it's not what you're thinking."

"And, what am I thinking?" JJ challenged, clearly highly amused by the entire situation and greatly enjoying Emily's discomfort.

"You're thinking Hotch spent the night here."

"Which he didn't?" She looked sceptical and unconvinced, and Emily found she couldn't lie.

"Well, no, technically he did but you also think that we slept together which...again, I can't deny because I guess we kinda did but-"

"But?" JJ prompted, eagerly.

"But there was no exchanging of bodily fluids, nobody got..._entirely_ naked. I didn't even kiss him!" Emily said, hands splayed out in front of her as though to demonstrate her innocence. "He was completely hammered, Jayje. Do you really think I'd do that to Hotch?"

JJ's eyes were narrowed, the ghost of a smile still hovering over her lips. "So you just...slept?"

"Yes!" Emily insisted, desperately. "We talked and we slept."

"In the same bed as our boss?"

"JJ, as my best friend," Emily pleaded, putting her hands together in front of her face, so it almost looked like a prayer, "I am asking you to let this go."

The blonde regarded her for a moment, looked once more between Emily and the tie in her hand, glanced towards the bed, where the sheets were still hopelessly rumpled, and then held out the offending garment for Emily to take.

"And, as your best friend," JJ continued, holding fast onto the tie when Emily tried to take it from her, "I retain all mocking rights."

It was Emily's turn to roll her eyes, but JJ finally released the tie. Putting her hands on her hips, she shook her head in disbelief, processing the information.

"I just can't believe you two," She said, and her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Hey, so did you spoon?"

"JJ, drop it!"

* * *

Emily couldn't get through her coffee without JJ asking question after question, and each of them she refused to answer.

"Not here, not now, Jayje, _please_," She begged, after the fifth one. Or was it the sixth?

"Fine," JJ held up a hand in surrender, the other firmly grasping the coffee cup in her hand. She seemed to have forgotten her hangover in the midst of the exciting revelation she had walked into. "But when we get back, you and I are going to go and get some cocktails, and you are going to tell me everything."

"Fine," Emily reluctantly agreed, packing the last items into her go-bag, including Hotch's tie. Flashes from the elevator came back to her. _Maybe not _everything. "Ready to head down?"

"Sure," JJ agreed,"Let me grab my bag."

Emily followed JJ into the corridor, set her bag down on the floor and turned to lock her door as the blonde disappeared inside her own room, further down the corridor, to collect her things.

"Morning."

"Jesus _christ_, Hotch," Emily cursed, near jumping out of her skin, having not heard him emerge from his room. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

He looked affronted, and much more put together than he had the last time she'd seen him; running, half-naked, from her bed. "Doing what?"

"Every time I step out of my room, you're there. It's like you're listening."

She was joking, but he looked sincerely offended for the moment, like he couldn't believe she would think that of him. Emily was spared explaining the joke when JJ came back out of her room. She stopped dead on the threshold, taking in the sight of them both there, and looked from Emily, to their boss, and back again.

"Morning, Hotch," She greeted, turning to lock her own door. With her back turned to them, so neither could see the smirk on her face, she brazenly asked, "Sleep well?"

Hotch's eyes shot towards Emily, who merely shrugged, and hoped it was convincing enough to throw him off. He floundered for only a moment before replying.

"I slept fine. And yourself?"

"Like a baby," JJ turned back to face them, with a swish of long, blonde hair, and an impassive smile pasted onto her face. Hotch nodded, then set towards the elevator. As soon as Hotch's back was turned, Emily caught JJ's eyes and gave her a look that was borderline murderous. She shook her head, communicating silently with her best friend, through eye contact alone. Still, JJ understood.

_JJ, I swear to god-_

JJ raised her eyebrows, innocently. The expression clearly said; _Alright, alright, I'll leave it alone._

Emily wasn't convinced.

* * *

Breakfast was a quiet affair. JJ's hangover had come back full force, so she was pounding cups of coffee and eating what Emily could only describe as a platter of fruit, 'to get the fluids back into her system.' Hotch was nursing a mug of coffee that couldn't have been blacker if he had tried; clearly he, too, was suffering this morning. Rossi had the paper and was reading it, reminding Emily of her own father when she was younger, who would catch up on politics over their 'family breakfast' though, contrasting with her father, Emily hadn't seen Dave's eyes move once, and she could have sworn his head was lolling a little. Reid wasn't eating, though Morgan kept taunting him with his own plate, piled high with all the fixings of a proper cooked breakfast.

Emily, who was the only one not suffering from any form of hangover, felt almost left out. Her arm was fine this morning, if a little stiff; the bandage would be off no later than tomorrow. As she dug into her oatmeal, she supposed she should feel smug. When Reid had to excuse himself from the table, after turning an unpleasant shade of green when Morgan spoon a spoonful of beans and egg into his own mouth, Emily found she _was_ a little bit smug, after all.

"So, this is what the hangovers look like from the outside, huh?" She taunted, glancing around the table at the rest of them.

"Don't act like Miss High-and-Mighty," Morgan scolded, playfully, "You've had your fair share."

"Yeah, remember Vegas, when she nearly tore my arm off?" JJ reminded them, and Emily rolled her eyes.

"Morgan had been going at that slot machine for a half hour, and all the coffee in the world wouldn't make the pounding in my head go away!" She defended.

"And the time you fell asleep in my hot tub?" Dave challenged.

"You know whiskey makes me sleepy!" Emily insisted, hotly.

"What about the time you vomited the whole way back to Quantico on the jet?" Hotch piped up. Emily caught his eye and raised her eyebrows.

"You wanna talk vomiting?" She challenged, and he had the decency to look a little sheepish, though there was a smirk on his face. She was getting used to that smirk, and to the softer side of him. She was really starting to like it.

"Speaking of vomit," JJ pushed her plate of fruit away, into the middle of the table, as Spencer rejoined them. His complexion had improved, all but his face, which was still a little pink.

"I think, on that note, we'd better hit the ground running," Hotch announced, "Everybody ready to make a move?"

There was a muttering of general consensus around the table and as they rose to leave, Emily saw Hotch leave the tip.

They rode back to the airport in much the same way they had driven to the hotel. The only exception was that Hotch and Emily had Reid in their car. He was practically hanging out of the window, head lolling out of it as he appreciated the cool air. Emily, therefore, sat in the middle, and Hotch on her other side. With the kid in the car, they couldn't talk about the night before, but Emily knew they would have to at some point. She wondered how much of it Hotch actually remembered. Regardless of what he remembered from last night, he had woken up in her bed. Neither of them could act as though that had never happened. She would have to tell him about JJ, too, and find a way to give him back his tie. She wondered if he had even noticed it was missing.

"When we get back to Quantico, I'm going to need you all to do your write ups," Emily didn't know why he was saying this; they all knew the post-case drill. They'd been doing it for years. When the car turned a corner and they were forced closer together by the momentum, she understood; he was distracting himself. She couldn't blame him. Try as she might, she couldn't get the image of Hotch, almost naked, in her bed, out of her head. Of all of the things they'd gotten away with over the duration of this case, that had been the most intimate. Waking up, like that, with him, had crossed a line. JJ was right.

"You got it," She agreed, looking straight out of the front window, rather than at him.

"Did you hear that, Reid?" Hotch leaned over her slightly, and Emily sat back, trying not to breath him in too deeply, and wishing he didn't have the effect on her that he did.

Reid, however, wasn't listening. Hotch looked concerned and Emily chanced a glance over at the boy genies. He had, once again, gone that unnatural shade of green.

"Reid?" Hotch said, warily, "Are you alright?"

"Reid?" Emily pressed.

He turned to them, tried to speak, and, at the same time, they shouted, "Reid, no, no-"

It was too late. When he was finished retching, Emily was glaring at him like she never had before, shocked and appalled in equal measure. Reid looked sheepish and Hotch was trying not to laugh, though the situation as a whole was fairly hysterical.

"I am never sitting in the middle again," Emily howled, then pointed an accusing finger at the younger agent, "And _you_," She glared, struggling to find the words, "Are never drinking again. _Ever_!"

"I'm sorry, Emily!"

* * *

A/N

Thank you for all of your lovely reviews! As long as you keep enjoying, I'll keep whipping up chapters for you guys.

Stay safe. Stay inside. Wash yer feckin hands.

Steph x

P.S Happy Birthday Max xo


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

JJ, Morgan and Dave stared at her as she boarded the plane. Morgan, who was the closest to the door, rapidly took a few steps backwards as she came aboard, clearly anticipating a stench. Her hands were outstretched, her trousers and shoes covered in the mess. Behind her, Hotch was carrying both of their go-bags.

"I thought you said you _weren't_ hungover?" Morgan asked, looking at her with a expression caught somewhere between amusement and disgust.

Angry, uncomfortable and embarrassed, Emily glared back at him.

"I'm _not,"_ She insisted, shortly. "This is not mine. Even at the ripe old age of thirty, Dr Reid can't hold his damn liquor. He is never allowed to drink, ever again. Ever, ever, ever again. Does everybody hear me? I am putting my foot down."

Her voice had risen to a hysterical level. JJ nodded, quickly. Rossi was hiding behind his book, covering the smirk that was trying to evolve into a laugh. As Reid climbed into the cabin behind her, Morgan taunted him.

"You made mom maaaaad," He grinned, drawing out the vowel. It was only when Emily glare turned into a furious expression of shock, her mouth open in a wide 'o', that the smile swiftly fell from his face and Morgan slid into his seat, his back to her.

"Mom?" She mouthed, soundlessly, at JJ, who could only give her an apologetic shake of the head. Clearing her throat, she asked, "Jayje, do you have anything I can change into?"

"Sorry," She replied, with another shake of the head. "Nothing clean."

"Yeah, me either," Emily complained, "I'm going to have to put yesterdays jeans back on."

"I've -uh, I've got a pair of sweats," Hotch's voice came from behind her. "I didn't wear them," He didn't have to explain why. They both knew why. Even JJ knew why, "You can borrow them, if you want."

Given the current state of her attire, Emily was in no position to rebuff his offer, and she was actually grateful for it, so while Reid sheepishly settled himself into a chair and buried his head beneath a blanket, the two of them set off towards the back of the plane, Hotch still carrying the bags, and JJ giving Emily a pointed look as they passed.

Covered in vomit as she was, Emily was hardly in a sexy mood, so she rolled her eyes at the blonde and ignored the smirk that passed JJ's lips.

"Give the kid a break," Hotch told her, as they disappeared behind the curtain that split the plane, "It's not often he lets his hair down."

"Oh, run in the family, does it?" She mocked, still annoyed. Hotch raised an eyebrow, amused, and tilted his head in agreement.

"Fair enough, I'm not one to talk, but we weren't wrong; you have had a couple of slip ups yourself. This is one of Reid's that we'll laugh about sooner or later."

"Later," She hissed, as Hotch set down the go bags and began to dig around inside his own, "_Much _later."

The sweats he produced were grey, and for a moment, Emily was almost disappointed she hadn't seen him in them last night. She recognised them, though, from training sessions and, most recently, from when he had been training for his triathalon.

"Thanks," She said, her voice softer now, as she took them from him. She glanced towards the rest of them, then back at Hotch, catching his eyes. Tilting her head, she tried to speak, but he interrupted.

"Later," He promised, nodding, and left her to head back to the others.

"Later," She agreed, aloud, to nobody.

"Wit woo," JJ whistled, when she emerged from the bathroom wearing Hotch's sweats and a clean, though very creased, t-shirt she had found at the bottom of her go bag, and just her socks. Rolling her eyes, she flopped into the seat beside the blonde and lay her head on JJ's shoulder. "Sleepy?"

Emily slapped JJ's arm lightly, in response to the leading question. JJ chuckled, low in her throat, and returned to hte book she had been reading, leaning her head against Emily's.

"Thanks," She repeated, to Hotch, who was sitting opposite them. He nodded, and said nothing. Reid, beside him, was fast asleep. "Poor kid. Was I too harsh?"

"Maybe a little," Morgan perked up, from the seat across the aisle.

"You don't get a vote," She spoke sharply, and it was Morgan's turn to look wounded. "_Mom." _

The rest of them burst into laughter, including Hotch. Beneath the table, Emily kicked him.

"Hey," She said, "If I'm _mom_, what do you think they call you?"

Hotch's face fell as the realisation dawned on him, and he looked, questioningly, between JJ and Morgan, both of whom avoided his gaze pointedly.

"For the record," JJ piped up, after a moment of silence, "I have never referred to you as mom."

"Good," Emily noted, "Because that would be really weird."

* * *

Emily tried to ignore the stares as they entered the bullpen. Used to seeing _professional_ Agent Prentiss, the sight of her in sweats (which were obviously many sizes too big anyway) instead of her usual black pant suits or skirts, drew curious and confused glances from most people in the room. JJ was trying not to look amused by it; Morgan, on the other hand, made no show of hiding how funny he was finding the situation. Reid headed straight to the coffee, not entirely sure whether Emily had forgiven him and therefore unwilling to engage in the situation at all, while Hotch followed the other three down the aisle of desks and then headed up towards his office.

"Casual Mondays," He clapped Anderson on the back as they passed him. He looked twice as confused as he had in the first place.

"Thank you," Emily rolled her eyes at him, dumping her bags on her desk. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going down to the locker room, where I do actually, _thankfully_, have a change of clothes."

She disappeared from the room as quickly as they had arrived and, this time, it wasn't just the other agents who watched her. Morgan was smirking when he turned back to his desk and happened to chance a glance up towards Hotch's office. Their chief was standing in his doorway, hands thrust deep in his pockets. At first, Morgan thought Hotch was looking at him, but when Hotch didn't react to his raised eyebrows, Morgan turned, following Hotch's eye line straight out of the door.

* * *

"They told me I'd find you down here," Penelope's voice was exactly what Emily needed to hear right now, and the grin on her face as the blonde rounded the corner was genuine. She was pulled into a tight hug, engulfed by the sweet scent of her friends perfume, and closed her eyes, content for the moment to relax with the only friend who hadn't either seen her covered in puke or interrogated her about last night. Yet. "They also told me about the sweats," She said, letting go of Emily and taking her appearance in with her bespectacled eyes. Shaking her head, she sat down on one of the benches. "Emily Prentiss, it's a good job you look good in everything, let me tell you that, because Hotch's grey sweats are barely flattering on him."

Letting out a laugh, Emily opened her locker and hid the smirk that graced her features inside of it as she rooted around for a change of clothes. It just wouldn't do to tell Garcia just how much she disagreed with that statement; and she disagreed wholeheartedly.

"Speaking of Hotch," She tensed, praying JJ hadn't _already_ mentioned it to her, "Did he behave himself while you were away?"

_Depends what you mean by behave._

_"_What do you mean?" Emily feigned innocence, as she pulled a pair of jeans and black jumper out of the locker. She quickly changed, aware that Penelope had seen her in worse states of undress than just her underwear on several drunken girls nights out, and stowed Hotch's sweats back into her bag. She'd only worn them for a few hours, but still thought it would be best if she took them home to wash before handing them back to him.

"I mean was he an ass or did he apologise?" Penelope pressed, "You were right about your theory, after all. He completely shut you down before you left, and then you were right. That must have tasted absolutely delectable. I wish I'd been there to see his face. You know I love the boss man with my whole heart, but sometimes I do love to see that ego quenched just a little bit."

"Oh, that," Emily shrugged, "Yeah, he apologised."

"Who apologised?" JJ appeared from behind the lockers, carrying a large mug of coffee, having just entered the room. She had clearly been directed down here by one of the boys and as she and Garcia hugged, Emily tried to explain quickly and briefly, wanting to be very done with this conversation and get back to work as soon as possible.

"Oh, just Hotch, about the unsubs," She was trying to brush it off, as she dug around in her make up bag for the basics she needed to apply to her face to look somewhat presentable.

"He did?" JJ queried, "At dinner? I didn't hear."

"No," It took everything inside of Emily not to reply through gritted teeth. _Come on, JJ._ "Not at dinner. After dinner. Last night."

The pointed look she wanted to give JJ would not have gotten by without Penelope spotting it and demanding to know what they were keeping from her, so Emily hoped there was enough meaning in her tone that JJ would catch on without digging any deeper. Apparently, she got the hint, because she and Garcia started talking about the boys instead, and how much JJ had missed them.

"That's what I came down to tell you," She directed at Emily, "Hotch said since there have been no cases called in yet we can go home for a few hours. He said he's staying here and if anything comes up, he'll call us."

"That's great," Emily sighed, relieved. She wanted to find a medic and get her bandage seen to, and then head home. Even if it was only for a few hours; a few hours of sleep, alone, in her own bed, was definitely a must right now.

Then there was the 'later' that Hotch had promised her. The conversation she knew they were going to have to have because, though it felt to her like it couldn't possibly have been only a few hours ago, they had spent the night together. Perhaps not in every sense of the phrase, but they both knew that the only reason for that was that Emily still had her wits about her. Remembering the low chuckle Hotch had given when she'd told him they couldn't, Emily almost shared his sentiment.

_"If I'm wishing for things, maybe I wish you were._"

She knew exactly how things would have gone if they were both drunk and, given the way things had abruptly ended this morning, she doubted either of them would feel very good about it right now. As it was, however, Emily could think back on their last few days and, instead of feeling confused and worried, she just felt smug and like they shared a naughty secret. And, perhaps, just a _tiny_ bit confused about it all. Maybe.

* * *

**A/N**

**It's almost 8am and I've not slept so you know what that means...have a chap.**

**You guys still with me? Let me know what you like - do you want me to get back to the raunchy stuff? Do you like a little bit of exposition? Hotch or Emily perspective? I always feel like I write Emily better, but it's fun to occasionally get into Hotch's head. **

**Thanks for the feedback guys, it's really appreciated x **

**Stay safe. Stay inside. Wash yer feckin hands xo**

**Steph**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Once her report was written, Emily was ready to leave the office. She hadn't seen Hotch since they'd gotten back; the door to his office had been closed since she'd come back up from the locker room. JJ and Morgan had left as fast as they could; JJ to see the boys, Morgan because he said he hadn't slept much the night before. Emily had been forced to resist rolling her eyes at the statement, and at the stupidly proud expresion on her friend's face. JJ, however, had pulled a face that demonstrated both of their disapproval quite well. Reid had stuck around for about half an hour to write his report, then bid her good evening. That, she felt, was a little premature given the fact that it was early afternoon and they had plenty of time to be called back into the office for a new case. It had been known to happen. Many times. Garcia was about somewhere, but she had already said goodbye to them all earlier. That left Hotch.

Emily sat at her desk for a long while after she had finished writing up her report. Picking at her fingernails and chewing her cheek, she stared at that door to Hotch's office. His blinds were drawn, but he hadn't gone home. He wouldn't go home, she knew. Jack was with Jessica. That was the responsibility that fell on his shoulders; he couldn't go home, as team leader. He could give the rest of them permission, but he was chained to his desk, metaphorically. And, Emily thought, mentally.

The word _workaholic_ sprang to mind. Though, she thought, she couldn't accuse him with too much disdain since she was fairly certain that there were many who would describe her as a workaholic, too. Funny, how they'd both rather be here than at home with their thoughts.

Picking up the file from her desk, she made her way up to his office and knocked on the door. No reply. Perhaps he had gone home, and she'd not noticed. Perhaps he'd gone home while she was downstairs changing. Intending to leave the file on his desk, Emily reached for the handle and stepped into the dark office. She was halfway to the desk when she noticed the figure sitting on the couch, and she gasped in surprise, holding the file to her chest as her heart raced in her chest.

Hotch was asleep. There was a yellow case file at his feet, where it had clearly slipped from his grasp, and his head, leaning on the palm of his hand, was lolling. He was snoring, softly, and, once over her initial shock, Emily smiled at the sound. It was rare that she saw him this peaceful and, well, she hadn't been able to take it in this morning, after all. Continuing on her route to his desk, Emily set down the file she had printed off, and turned to look at him. Leaning back against his desk, she regarded her sleeping boss with curious eyes.

The man barely had room for his son in his life. It was a painful truth that she knew he grappled with (although he'd never said as much outloud; he hadn't had to). What made her think he had room for her? The question hit her like a bullet - and she could make that comparison, because she knew what a bullet felt like. Shaking her head, Emily had to remind herself that she didn't _want_ him to make room for her. They weren't an _us_. They weren't going to be an _us_. The idea was laughable. And impossible.

But she still wished JJ hadn't disturbed them up this morning.

With a sigh, she pushed away from the desk and walked towards Hotch, inending to wake him up and tell him to go home, if only because sleeping like that was going to give him a horrible crick in his neck, which would put him into a foul mood. Stooping to pick up the file, she moved to set it on the desk beside her own, barely glancing at it. She vaguely recognised it as one JJ had mentioned a few days ago, one that had come up through ViCAP, but the local police hadn't called them in so they'd had no ground to investigate.

Emily didn't even hear him move; she felt his breath on her neck before anything else.

"I hope you're not snooping around my office, Agent Prentiss," His voice was little more than a growl in her ear, and Emily had to fight the urge to close her eyes blissfully at the sound. Her heart was racing again, and not just out of fear, though that was definitely a factor.

"I would never," She replied, slowly turning to face him, "You know me better than that. I'm the epitome of professional."

"As am I," He agreed, brown eyes roaming over her face and landing on her lips. Mouth suddenly very dry, Emily ran her tongue across her lips. She thought she saw him swallow, in response. A small smiled graced her lips, and Emily found herself enjoying the effect she had on him. Not that he didn't have an effect on her, too.

"I thought I ought to apologise for last night," His words were professional enough, but the low tone of them, and the way his eyes were still lingering on her lips before travelling up to bore into her own, presented an entirely different front.

"Oh?" Was all Emily could manage, trying as she was to keep her head.

"Yes," He nodded, bringing his face ever closer to hers.

"Which part are you apologising for?" Emily prompted, almost teasing him. She was looking for a correct answer here, and there definitely was one. He had to know what she wanted to hear.

"For being too drunk to do this," And then his lips were crashing down against hers. It was a deep and fast and breathless kiss, and Emily gripped his arms, scrunching his suit jacket in her palms, while his hands were on her hips, pulling her to him and gripping her tightly.

_This,_she recalled, _was just about where they had left off a few days ago. Or, close enough._

There were so many reasons to stop it. Jack, his position, his potential promotion, the fact that fraternisation inside of the FBI was looked down upon, if not strictly forbidden, the fact that Emily was fairly certain she had left the door open behind her. And, yet, Hotch kissing her was too delicious, she couldn't have torn herself away from him if she wanted to.

His hands were under her arms all of a sudden, and he was lifting her. She felt the ground disappear for a moment, and then she was sitting on the edge of his desk. It was exactly the sort of masculine display she would expect of Hotch, and Emily had no problem with it at all. Much to the contrary; she grinned as she broke the kiss for air, breathing hard against his chest as his hands travelled up her back and pulled her ever closer.

They travelled further up her back, running down her arms, and back up again. One circled her throat, and Emily tilted back her head, giving him access, letting him take control. The hand around her throat tightened and Emily chuckled.

"I didn't have you pegged for a choking kinda guy," She teased.

Hotch didn't reply. The hand around her throat was tightening. It was uncomfortable now and she tried to cough. Putting a hand on his chest, she tried to push him away.

"Hotch?" One hand on his chest, the other grappling with the hand around her throat, Emily didn't understand why he was doing this to her. Then he had both hands around her neck, and she was lying down on the desk, and he was baring down on her. She didn't remember moving and yet he was kneeling over her, his face bearing an expression she had seen only a handful of times. His face was red, his teeth bared, hair flopping down into his eyes.

She couldn't breathe. He was going to kill her. Hotch was going to choke the life out of her in the heart of the FBI.

And, then, suddenly, he wasn't Hotch anymore.

"Ian!"" Emily sprung up suddenly, her sheets sticking to her moist skin, hair wet with sweat and clinging to her neck, her own hand reaching for her neck as though to drag his fingers away from it. She found no hand there, just her own throat, and rested her hand on her collarbones, feeling her pulse pound beneath her skin.

Sergio, scared awake by her shout, had leapt to his feet beside her. His tail was standing up and he was regarding her with huge, worried eyes, tail swishing behind him anxiously. Heart pounding in her chest, Emily reached out a shaking hand to gently stroke him.

"It's okay," She spoke softly, to the cat, and to herself, "I'm fine. We're fine. I'm sorry." She pressed a kiss between his ears, but Sergio wasn't going to settle back down now. He leapt down from the bed, clearly unhappy with her for waking them both up, and pounced off towards the kitchen. Seconds later, she heard him lapping at his water. An excellent idea.

Climbing shakily out of bed, Emily made her own way through to the kitchen and, with hands that were still trembling a little, poured her own drink from the water dispenser in the fridge. She glanced towards her desk, and felt better, knowing her gun was safely stowed away in there. She could protect herself. And, more importantly, Ian was _gone_. She'd seen him die; she had watched Chloe Donaghy put a bullet in him, had witnessed his last words to his son. Ian was no threat to anybody anymore, least of all her. She didn't need protection from him. But he would love to know she was still suffering from his abuse.

Now angry as well as spooked, Emily hated imagining the smug smile that would adorn his face if he could know she was still having nightmares about him. The four leaf clover he had burned into her skin was gone (surgically removed with a graft and a hefty chunk of the FBI's money during her time in Paris) and although the scar on her torso remained, Emily had really thought those wounds had begun to heal. She thought she was done thinking about him and _them_ and done with looking over her shoulder, waiting for him to come back for her. It was clear, however, that the scars he had burned into her mind were far from gone. He had hunted her then. Now, he was haunting her.

But, why now? Why, after these long months? Because of Hotch? She expected Reid would have some sort of long-winded but accurate explanation of why her subconscious was trying to scare her but Emily didn't have to be the boy genius to psychoanalyse herself.

"I'm scared of being hurt, again," She spoke, aloud, to the room, with only Sergio to hear and he didn't even glance up at her from where he had settled atop the shoe rack. His tail swished, at the sound of her voice, but other than that, he was motionless, relaxed once more. Emily almost wished he would come back to bed. She'd never been a cat person before Sergio. Now, it seemed, he was occasionally her greatest ally, on nights such as tonight, when she scared herself out of sexy dreams and into nightmares.

It was early, not late. Early enough that she could be awake and stay awake; weak sunlight was trying to break through the early morning darkness on the horizon and Emily knew there was no point getting back into bed. She wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. Instead, she resolved to get ready for work and hit the gym before she had to be in the office. It was the only place where she could work off her anxiety, lately, and she needed to _do_ something to get rid of her pent up energy. Now coiled like a spring, unwinding at the gym would be what was best for her, and anybody she would come into contact with throughout the way.

Twenty minutes later found her in her in a sports bra and gym leggings, headphones fixed tightly in her ears, beating on a punchbag like it had Ian Doyle's face. She imagined knocking his teeth out with a roundhouse kick, imagined smashing open his brow with a punch, imagined blood seeping from a split lip...

The hand on her shoulder startled her and, had it been anybody but Morgan, they'd have been left with the broken nose she had intended for Doyle. Morgan, though, leaned easily out of the way and caught her arm before she lost her balance, steadying her. The expression on his face was concern and Emily had to steady herself for an onslaught of questions before she took out her headphones.

"Sorry," She said, shortly, "Too into the routine."

"Emily," Derek pointed out, tilting his head towards the window, "It's not even 6am yet."

"I know," She assured him, wandering over to her gym bag and shoving her now tangled headphones into the depths of it while grabbing her water bottle. She made a show of gulping from the bottle, giving herself a chance to think up an answer to the question she knew was coming.

"So, why are you here?" It was a valid question, but Emily pretended to shrug, nonchalantly, and gestured to him.

"You're here."

"I'm always here this early, Emily. How else do you expect me to keep up the chocolate xylophone?" He was smiling now, and Emily returned it, wearily. The smile faded from his face, though the corners of his mouth remained upturned, and his eyes softened. "For real, I never see you here this early; you're a night owl, not an early morning person. You're knocking down a coffee and a Xanax at seven, and I never even get a smile before 8. So, seriously, princess. What's going on with you?"

She considered telling him, really she did. Not about Hotch, maybe, but about the rest of it. About Doyle. But, when she opened her mouth, her shoulders shrugged of their own accord, and the voice that spoke was one that sounded much more cavalier than she felt.

"I guess this last case just messed with my body clock, that's all. I promise, I'll be back to snarling you tomorrow morning, okay?"

Derek didn't look convinced, but as she stalked off to the showers, Emily was grateful that he didn't push it any further.

* * *

**A/N**

**Yes I dropped another dreamscape, don't hate me. ****As always, very grateful for your feedback, guys! Hope you're still enjoying and thank you for the reviews! Writing this is one of the things keeping me going through lock down, so I love to see that you guys are enjoying it, too. **

**Stay safe. Stay inside. Wash yer feckin hands.**

**Steph x**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Though he wouldn't tell anybody, Hotch hadn't slept well, either. Jessica still had Jack; he was going to pick him up this evening, and the flat being so quiet and empty was too familiar, too similar to the days when Jack and Haley had been in WITSEC. Quiet as the apartment was, Hotch didn't feel as though he were alone. When he reached into his go-bag to take out his laundry, and found the joggers missing, and remembered the past few days so vividly it were as though he was reliving it, he had to push the thoughts away.

Slip ups. They'd both slipped up. Several times. How it had happened, how it had come to this, Hotch didn't know. For the best part of six years, they'd managed to work together professionally. There had been...moments. Moments that had meant very little at the time, but which now flashed through his mind as though they were foreshadowing the very events that had occurred over the last couple of days.

The first time she had walked into his office, for example.

"Hi," At first, when she'd smiled at him, from the doorway of his office, carrying her little box of things, he hadn't recognised her. He had registered that there was a beautiful woman standing there, but recognition had come a moment later. "I'm Agent Emily Prentiss." His eyes widened, and Aaron had to check himself as he responded to her, holding out his hand.

"Oh, you're Ambassador Prentiss' daughter," He nodded, "I did security clearances for your mother's staff; it was one of my first commands. I believe you were off to Brown at the time." He knew very well that it wasn't Brown. She was a Yale girl. How could he forget, when she'd pranced around for the entire summer in those sweatshirts?

"Actually, it was Yale," She corrected him, and he pretended to acknowledge his mistake. "I've been in the Bureau almost ten years now."

"Don't tell me that," He attempted a joke, "Has it been that long?" She looked well. Ten years in the Bureau looked as though they had been kind to her; if he looked for long enough, which he was trying not to, she still looked like the nineteen year old she had once been. The one that did things to him he had never admitted aloud. The one who had been haunting his dreams ever since.

"Apparently, sir," She smiled back, "But I work mostly in the Midwest; St. Louis, Chicago."

"Good," He was beginning to wonder how she had found her way into his office; on her mother's behalf, perhaps? "Your parents well?" He asked, hoping to prompt her.

"Yeah, yeah. They're great." Apparently not. She was looking at him with those impossibly large brown eyes, as though expecting something from him. What that may be, Hotch had no idea.

"Excellent," He nodded again, then paused, before asking the question, "What can I do for you?"

"Well," She indicated the box in her hands, "I guess I was hoping you could tell me where to put my stuff. I'm supposed to start here today...at the BAU."

He hadn't approved that. Hadn't even known she was working for the Bureau. And, had he known, he absolutely would not have approved the transfer; both professionally and personally, he didn't need a ghost from his past haunting him. And he had told her as much; of course, later it became apparent that the fault was his, having missed the memo, but the look of embarrassment and confusion on her face was one he hadn't quickly forgotten.

Over the next couple of months, he had watched her. He had admired her, from a distance. She had striven to prove herself, and had exceeded all expectations he ever would have had for her, which was why, Hotch had reasoned to himself, he had given her such a hard time. He could see, from the very beginning, what she was capable of. Truthfully, even back then, he'd seen potential in her that he himself had never amounted to. It was intimidating and fascinating all at once. And, much as he liked her, he couldn't find it in him to trust her. After all, he knew her mother, and he had Strauss breathing down his neck. He couldn't trust anybody back then.

He felt a lot of emotions towards Emily during those first few months, many of which reignited the fire he held for her that had diminished over the intervening years. The first time she really impressed him, though, outside of the field, he had called her into his office. Strauss had her own agenda; she was pushing, pushing him, pushing the team.

"This team can't function if I don't trust the people on it," Hotch had told Emily, who looked bewildered and confused, and as he continued to speak, he watched her eyes narrow, her lips pressed into a straight line.

"Sir, if I touched a nerve out there today," She said, in reference to her questioning him in front of the rest of the team, "I'm sorry," She shook her head, minutely, "But I don't deserve this."

"You mysteriously show up at the BAE after one of my team members was involved in a questionable shooting. You've done good work," He was almost accusing her now, and he could see dislike creeping into her eyes. Good. She should dislike him. It would make this a lot easier. "But I will not put up with a political agenda."

He hit a nerve there, and he saw it immediately in her eyes.

"My mother is a career politician," She stated, "You worked with her." It was almost an accusation, "Did you like her?"

_No,_ was the truthful answer, and, honestly, Hotch didn't think Emily liked her very much, either. The interactions he had seen between Ambassador Prentiss and her daughter had been less than warm; in fact, interactions with her mother were the only time Aaron had seen Emily for the child she'd still been in many ways, during that long summer he had worked for her. "She's an impressive woman."

It was as evasive answer, and Emily saw right through it.

"Well, I think politics makes people distrustful. I think it makes them hate themselves. I think it tears families apart and damages people," In her voice, he heard trauma he knew nothing about. Each of his team members had a past, that much he knew, but there was only so much you could read about a person in a file. He felt guilty, as she continued to speak, her eyes locked on his, the hurt there evident and genuine. "So, if there's nothing else. I would like to get back out onto the street and find out who's killing these women. _Sir_." It had killed him, the way she spat that last syllable at him. But, again, Hotch thought it would be better if she hated him. Selfishly, he pretended it would make their lives easier. Truthfully, the only person he was making it easy for was himself.

Months later, when JJ had questioned how Emily had acclimatised so quickly to their line of work, when he had walked in on that conversation, he, too had been curious.

"You came off of a desk job," JJ had almost accused her, shaken as she was from her experience with Hankel's dogs, "Now suddenly you're in the field surrounded by mutilated bodies and...you don't even flinch."

Emily, Hotch had noted, hesitated. "She's right," He interrupted, and she turned to face him, words lingering on her plump, painted lips. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and there was a flicker of _something_ before her walls went back up.

"I guess, maybe, I compartmentalise better than most people."

Again, Hotch was forced to recognise that there was more to this woman than he knew. He didn't know her at all. He remembered her, he had a connection with her. But, in reality, outside of the BAU, she was a stranger to him.

Time and time again, Emily had proven herself to him. And, the final straw, the point at which Hotch knew she was entirely indispensable, came, again, several months later, when he realised she had been protecting him, all of them, from Erin. He'd gone to her apartment, and the shock on her face when she opened the door and saw him standing there told him that she'd meant it when she handed in her badge and her gun. She was leaving. And she just _had_ to be wearing red, didn't she.  
He'd almost laid it all on the table right there. And when she asked him, "Can I ask - why are you really here?" He'd tried to put it into words without telling her.

"I think Strauss came to you and asked for dirt on me." _And you didn't give it to her. Because you're better than that, loyal and good. Better than her. Better than me. _He'd rambled, he'd all but confessed everything to her. Elle, Reid. When he was finished, she could only shake her head.

"I told you," She almost whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "I hate politics."

"Come to Milwaukee." The expression on her face was still hesitation. "I'll make you a deal," He tried, desperately, profiling the profiler, "If your bag isn't here, packed, I won't bug you anymore. Ifit is, I want you on that plane with me. One more case."

Emily was almost smiling now, clearly amused by hoe well he seemed to know her. "I already turned in my badge and gun," She tried, helplessly.

Hotch had smirked at her, and she'd smiled back. "That's just hardware."

Their relationship, from then on out, had improved immensely. The team was more efficient, happier, smoother. His trust in her was concrete. So much so, that he let her put herself in situations he hated. That day, when he asked her to go to Milwaukee with him, she'd gone into that house without a vest, and he'd let her. She'd almost died. And he'd let her.

He, too, had send her into Liberty Ranch.

"I can take it," She'd said, into his earpiece, as Benjamin Cyrus beat her, "I can take it." It had killed him, listening to that. He'd torn the headphones from his ears like a coward, not because it hurt him to hear Cyrus beat her, but because it hurt him to hear her _insist_ she could take it. That desperation to prove herself, to get the job done, part of that was his fault. And he hated himself for it.

And then there was Doyle.

He had failed her, finally. All of the times he'd put her in danger. There was bound to be one. There was no consolation for him; even the fact that she had gone it alone didn't sooth his conscience. It was their job to profile. He knew her well enough to know that she would rather go it alone than put any of them in danger because of her. Emily Prentiss was a friend first, an Agent second. Unfortunately, working as closely with the same team as they did, it eventually became impossible to segregate the personal and the professional. Emily's compartmentalisation was over. It had failed. And she paid the ultimate price for it.

There was only one moment of relief in Hotch's life greater than when the Doctor told him Emily had puled through, and that was finding Jack after Foyet had murdered Haley. But, knowing she was alive, but that he had to let her go, had torn Hotch apart. It had torn the whole team apart. That was why he'd gone abroad. He couldn't stand being there without her; truthfully, he knew, none of them could. And he couldn't lie to their faces every day.

And, he pondered, sitting down on the edge of his bed, where did that leave them now?

They had been through so much together. And not just the two of them, but the whole team. The job had taken so much from each of them; literally and figuratively, physically and emotionally. Each of them bore the scars to prove it. But they never let the Unsub win. At least, that was what they told themselves.

Hotch had come to realise, though, slowly, during his years both as a profiler and as Unit Chief for the BAU, that there came a point when, even behind bars, even if they were shot dead, the Unsubs were still winning. If he, and Emily, and JJ, and Penelope, Morgan, Rossi, and anybody else they came into contact with, if they let their jobs get in the way of their lives, then the Unsub still won.

His job had always been his life. He couldn't, and wouldn't, turn his back on it, not now or ever. But sometimes, just sometimes, Hotch wondered what his life would look like when he was old and grey and looking back on it.

He was still thinking about it the next morning when he made his way into the BAU. Thankfully, he was in early, and the bullpen was empty, so he didn't have to meet anybody. That gave him time to set aside the thoughts that had given him a sleepless night, and all of the memories that had come flooding back to him suddenly, all of the moments. He headed straight for his office where he set down his briefcase and picked up the travel mug from his desk.

Normally, Hotch didn't do coffee this early, but today, it was more of a necessity than a luxury. He was standing there, spooning the splenda into his mug, when Emily came through the doors. She didn't notice him as she passed, and Hotch didn't greet her immediately, surprised as he was by her sudden appearance so early in the morning. That, he realised almost immediately, was an error. She headed straight for her desk, too, where she dumped what looked like a gym bag beneath it and then turned, presumably to make her own cup of coffee.

"_Shit_," She flinched as she spotted him, having believed herself to be alone in the office. The look she gave him could have killed. "I thought I told you not to do that."

"Sorry," He couldn't help the smirk that twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Coffee?"

"You don't make people coffee," Emily commented, as she strut over to the side, "People make you coffee. You're the boss, remember?"

"Emily," He sighed, stirring his own coffee, impatient with her petulant response, "Would you like a coffee, or not?"

Folding her arms across her chest and leaning against the side, Emily nodded. She watched, carefully, as Hotch busied himself with her drink, and raised an eyebrow as he dunked two levelled off spoons of sugar into her mug and sloshed in just a dash of milk.

"How'd you know I didn't want it black today?" She asked, curiously, as he handed it to her.

"You never have it black once you've been to the gym," He told her, "You're awake enough from the shower, and you also have sugar, instead of splenda, after the gym, too, because you don't feel so bad about the calories."

Now, if Emily was a high school girl, she would have made a big deal about this revelation; Hotch had been paying attention. Clearly, at some point, either they'd had a conversation, or he'd overheard a conversation between her and someone else (with the second scenario being the far more likely) and he stored away that information in his little mind cave for later usage. Were she a high school student, Emily might have found this sweet, or even an indication that the Unit Chief was harbouring a little crush, because who remembers such intricate details about a person, right? As it were, Emily was not a high school student, nor was she about to act like one, so she merely nodded as she took the coffee cup, muttering a quiet "thanks," to Hotch, her eyes flitting up to give him a small smile, rather than expressing her amazement and her affection at him having remembered such a detail about her.

After all, it was just a cup of coffee.

"So," She commented, as they wandered through the bullpen towards her desk, "Should we talk about it?"

She didn't have to name the _it_ she was talking about; they both knew. Hotch nodded, "Absolutely," He said, "But not now."

Emily couldn't have agreed more; she didn't want to start her day with that conversation any more than he did. But, it was reassuring to know that they could be around each other without things being weird.

Well, Emily thought, as Hotch departed for his office and she slid into her chair and set her coffee down on her desk, not _too_ weird anyway. She sipped at her coffee, and thought it just might be the best cup she'd had in a long time.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

As soon as they entered the conference room that day, they knew it was going to be a bad case. Penelope, their resident ray of sunshine, who tried to put a smile on her face even when the most horrific cases came their way, was not smiling today. She tried, when they filed in, to greet them in her usual, cheery way, but something about it fell short of her usual cheer.

"Good morning, my guys and girls," She greeted them, as they gathered around the table. As much as Emily had known how much JJ had disliked this aspect of her job, back when she was media liaison, she sometimes thought JJ had been much more emotionally equipped to handle it than Penelope was. Every time she delivered a case to them, Emily thought she could see a little bit of her friend's sparkle fade, though it always returned, usually upon the purchase of a colourful trinket with which she could decorate her electronic cave. "You, my crime fighters, are heading to rural Georgia, to a tiny little town that goes by the name of Toccoa. And when I say it's a tiny town, I mean it. Their population following the 2010 census was eight and a half thousand, and it's been dropping slowly since then."

"And, why are we heading there?" Rossi prompted, pulling one of the files from the middle of the table towards him. Following his lead, the rest of the team reached for their packs.

"Right," Facing them, instead of the screen, having already seen whatever horrific visuals she was about to present to them, Garcia pointed the remote behind her head, "That's why."

"Oh, my god," JJ hissed.

Emily had never had a good relationship with religion, and she would never speak for someone else's beliefs, but she was pretty sure God had absolutely nothing to do with what they were all seeing on the screen.

"This is Thalia Yates. She is eight years old," Garcia explained, in a voice thick with sadness, "She went missing yesterday afternoon. This morning, a jogger happened upon her body. She was...dumped, and I use that word literally, because I'm no profiler but there was no remorse in the way she was left there, on a popular and heavily trafficked hiker's trail. There was evidence of blunt force trauma to her head and," Garcia clicked the remote.

"A pentagram carved into her forehead," Emily closed her eyes, just for a moment. And then she had to shut it out. The part of her that wanted to week for the little girl and her parents. She quieted it; it had to go away, just for a little while, just until the case was done. She had to keep a level head long enough to catch whoever had done this to her, and then she would weep, in private and away from her team. They all would.

"I'm sorry, but that's not even the worst of it." Penelope continued, almost timidly.

A third click of the remote.

"Two more bodies were discovered in shallow graves nearby. They were in varying states of decomposition, but I can tell you they've been there longer than Thalia. These two earlier victims have yet to be identified."

"He took Thalia yesterday, and disposed of her body this morning," Hotch said, standing up, "I don't need to outline to you the time constraints we're under here, so wheels up immediately."

* * *

Their hour and a half flight felt much longer. They poured over their files for the most part in silence. Funny, Emily thought, how she had never been able to hear the seconds tick by on her watch before, but as she sat on the plane, it was as loud as if it had been a grandfather clock chiming through the cabin of the jet. Beside her, JJ was biting her nails. Emily understood the anxiety that drove her to such an action. Each case that passed their way concerning kids was so much harder for JJ now that she was a mother. Irritated by the noise, and concerned for her friend, Emily took JJ's hand, pulling it gently away from her teeth, and shook her head when JJ looked up at her.

"You'll make them bleed," Emily told her, softly, with the voice of experience. JJ tried to smile, clutching Emily's hand back tightly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"With the population of this town being so small," Rossi was saying, "They're going to be closed off about outsiders. They're not going to take too kindly to our coming in and taking charge of the investigation."

"No, they're not, I agree," Hotch stated, glancing across at him, "And as much as I want to disregard that in favour of finding whoever is taking these little girls, the locals are going to be our best shot at finding this guy. JJ, Prentiss, I want you to set up at the precinct. Morgan, Dave, head to the dumpsite and see what you can get from there. Reid, you're with me."

As soon as they entered the police station, the coolness Rossi had told them about washed over the girls like an icy wave. Each pair of eyes that found them was equal parts curious and dismissive. Emily, however, had been raised in rooms like this. Her mother had presided over many a room where sat not a single friendly soul. Even in her first couple of years at the Bureau, Emily had dealt with a lot of mistrust and dislike, mostly from male colleagues. She could taste the misogyny like blood in the air. However, she had also walked through all of that, like treading on hot coals, and that was what she planned to do today. Glancing at JJ, she saw the same resolve in her friend's eyes.

"Agents, welcome," The first friendly face they saw extended his hand, and Emily took it, giving him a firm handshake, "Thank you for coming. We appreciate it," His eyes scanned behind their heads, at the scene they had just walked into, and he sighed, heavily, "Or, at least, I appreciate it." His voice dropped to a low whisper, "We are in way over our heads here."

"Well, we're here to do our best and our best usually gets the job done. You must be Chief Garrett?" Emily ascertained, and he nodded.

"I am. James Garrett. Although, the chief part is a pretty recent promotion, I'm not quite used to that part yet," He had a childlike manner about him, a boyish charm that put Emily at ease.

"Supervisory Special Agents Prentiss and Jareau," She introduced them, indicating JJ, "Out Unit Chief, Agent Hotchner has headed straight for the ME's office with another member of our team but we understand that the witness who found Thalia's body is still here, ready to talk to us?"

"Well, actually, I told Jack to go home for a couple of hours. You know, take a shower, grab some food. The guys had a real shock today," Garret told them, "He was a mess when he had to call it in. Stayed with her until my guys got there."

"We understand," JJ said, "But we are going to need to speak with him, and given the speed at which the Unsub - uh, that is, the Unknown Subject - seems to be working, it's really the sooner, the better."

Garrett was nodding, emphatically. "Yeah, sure. I'll give him a call, have him here as soon as possible."

The girls thanked him, and Garrett asked one of his deputies to show them to the office where they could set up. JJ set about pinning what little evidence they had up onto the board while Emily continued to pour over the file. She hoped the boys were doing better, because until their witness got here, they had nothing to go off of. She told JJ as much as she threw the file down onto the desk, frustrated.

"Hey," JJ raised an eyebrow, sitting down opposite Emily as the brunette raked her hands through her hair, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," It was mostly true. With the exception of being frustrated about the case and exhausted by her lack of restful sleep the past couple of nights, she was fine. "Yeah, just not sleeping well."

She could see the taunt on JJ's lips, but the blonde knew better. Teasing, she knew, would come later, unless she put a stop to it.

"And not for the reason you think," Emily cut in, before JJ had the chance to comment, "That's done with. That was a one time," _Four time._ "Utah-" _And Hotch's office. _"-kinda thing that wasn't really a thing. I'm just having...bad dreams." She faded into a daydream as she spoke the last words, staring out of the window, recalling how Hotch's face had morphed into Ian's before her eyes and wondering at the significance behind it all, or if she were just running away from her own happiness again. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Hey," She only realised she'd been biting her fingers when JJ's hand came up to gently pull her hand from her mouth, "You'll make them bleed." The blonde told her, warmly.

Emily squeezed JJ's hand, gratefully, giving her a tired smile.

"So, what about Garrett, huh?" JJ commented, as she released Emily's hand and sat back in her seat. That mischevious smile was back in place. Emily was pulling the file back to her, raking her eyes over the details once more befire their witness arrived.

"What about him?" She asked, absently.

"He's pretty young for a chief," JJ said, leadingly. Emily barely heard her, but she agreed, anyway, as she jotted down a few extra notes on the paper. "And cute. Obviously driven. Seems just your type, don't you think?"

"What?" Emily looked up at her, confusion furrowing her brow, "What is with sudden your fascination with my love life?"

"I'm just saying," The blonde shrugged, standing up to resume pinning up the crime scene photos, "If the Hotch thing isn't going anywhere..."

Emily shook her head, "Jayje," She said, wearily, "Now is _so_ not the time."

* * *

This had always been Hotch's least favourite part of the job. When kids were involved, it was even worse. As he regarded Spencer, he thought that perhaps he ought to have brought Dave or Morgan, instead, and let Reid go to the crime scene. The kid didn't have to see so much of this stuff. In the same breath, though, he knew that, professionally, Reid had the best eye for detail. He might see something that any of the others could miss. Hotch always had to weigh up his options when it came to his team; who needed to be protected, even a little, and who needed to be pushed. He had to weigh up his options between protecting Reid, and being professional. More often than not, Hotch's professional side won out. That, he knew, was a good thing. He just wondered, more and more often, lately, if he was asking too much of his team.

The child in front of them looked almost peaceful. Hotch would have sworn she was sleeping if her skin hadn't already taken on the almost translucent, grey quality of the recently deceased. Her lips were slowly turning blue, and Hotch had to suppress a shiver that threatened to climb his spine. Her eyes were closed, those blue-tinged lips slightly parted. If not for her colouration, she looked restful. The scalded, red pentagram across her forehead was the only indication of the horror that had befallen her.

"We were told the COD was blunt force trauma?" Reid asked.

"Yes, agent," The ME nodded, indicating the top of Thalia's head. Her hair was dark, black as Emily's, so it was difficult to see, but once the ME pointed it out, Hotch could see where her hair had matted thick with congealed blood. "My best guess," The ME was telling them, "Would be some form of elongated tool. A bat, maybe. Even a sturdy tree branch. Whoever did this to her hit her hard, twice. Her neck was broken by the force of it."

"And the symbol?" Hotch gestured to the child's forehead, though he needn't have.

"Unfortunately," She gave a heavy sigh, "Unfortunately, Agent, I believe that was carved antemortem. He cut her while she was still alive. He cut them all while they were still alive."

Casting a glance towards the next body, Hotch questioned the ME. "Alexa March?" The girl whose name they had received on their decent into Georgia.

The ME nodded. This girl had blonde hair. It was muddied, and bloodied, but it was blonde. Her skin was sallower than Thalia's, pulled tighter across her cheeks.  
"How long do you think she was out there?" Reid asked, looking down at the child's face with pained eyes. Hotch wished he would look away.

"A month, maybe. No longer. T he third body, the one we've not been able to identify yet, she's been out there the longest. Maybe six months? She's in bad shape. We're pulling dental records, trying to find and notify the parents."

"We can narrow that down for you," Hotch said, turning to Reid. "Call Garcia. Have her pull records of any missing children in the area from roughly six months ago. We know he doesn't keep them from very long, so she should't go back too far."

Reid disappeared out of the swinging doors pulling his phone out of the pocket of his FBI windbreaker as he went. Once he was gone, Hotch turned to the ME.

"Was there any sign of sexual assault?" It was the question he hated having to ask the most, but when it involved children, it made his blood burn in his veins. Relief flooded him when the ME shook her head.

"None, on any of the victims," She heaved another heavy sigh, looking down at Alexa's little, pale face. "Small mercies."

* * *

"You see what I see, Rossi," Morgan was saying, gesturing with wide arms to the section of path and woods that had been cordoned off by the police tape, "This area, this path, it's wide open. It's heavily trafficked, especially at this time of the year. There's a 6 mile race that gets run every Winter. Whole town gets involved. So he's not worried about being caught, clearly. But, why take the risk? Why here? Why not somewhere more secluded, a dumpsite less likely to be discovered?"

Rossi didn't have the answers, only theories. He had been wondering the same questions as Morgan. Wandering off the path, slightly, to where Thalia's body had been discovered, Rossi looked around at the undisturbed ground near the dumpsite.

"The other two bodies they found," Rossi pointed out, "They were buried. In shallow graves, and further into the woods, but they were buried. Thalia wasn't."

"Maybe somebody disturbed him while he was getting rid of the body," Morgan shrugged, "He got spooked, dropped her, ran away before he had the chance to bury her in accordance with is ritual."

"That would be my guess, too," Rossi was nodding, "But it makes me worry. Now that his dumpsite has been disturbed, he might change it."

"All depends on his reason for choosing here," Morgan continued Rossi's train of thought aloud, "If it's random, he'll have no problem finding somewhere new. If it holds some significance for him, then he's got a problem."

It was at that moment that they heard commotion coming from the road. Cadaver dogs. Following the discovery of the second and third body, Hotch had ordered them to bring the dogs. Just to be sure. As they neared, however, Rossi felt a familiar sinking in his stomach. The dog's noses were pressed to the floor in concentration. The whimpering started almost at once. Then the barking. He and Morgan watched as, one after the other, the dogs paused and barked, spun and barked again. And again, and again.

"They're overwhelmed," Morgan said, "And we're about to have a lot more than three bodies."

* * *

**A/N**

**So I've been the ultimate nerd and made a playlist called Fine Line on spotify. You don't have to, but if you wanted to check it out, feel free. Just a couple of songs that inspire me to write Hotchniss, but also kinda the soundtrack for the story, if you like.**

**Also, wash yer feckin hands x **

**Steph**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Emily could only hear one side of the conversation, but she knew it was bad news. Even if she hadn't been able to hear it, she could read JJ's expression easily. As the blonde hung up the phone and turned to face her, Emily raised her eyebrows, questioningly, though she needn't have.

"They've found four more bodies," JJ's voice was thick as she put the phone back into her pocket. She coughed, once, twice, clearing her throat, as she rejoined Emily on the sofa. "There are more. They're still digging."

Emily tried, but words failed her. There were so many lessons you learned doing this job, but that was one of the first; on the worst days, there were no words. There was nothing she could say that would comfort JJ, who she knew was picturing the bodies of the little girls they'd pulled out of the ground. Soon, Emily thought, looking up at their evidence board, she wouldn't have to imagine; they'd been pilled up there, a piece of evidence, the only hope of making sure they were the last bodies they found. JJ ran a hand over her face and through her hair, her Citrine ring glinting on her finger. Henry's birthstone. Emily wondered, not for the first time, how much more difficult this job would be if she had a family at home she had to take it all home to.

"Agents," Garrett appeared at the door, "He's here."

"Mr Allison?" Emily greeted him, with a smile, as she and JJ both got to her feet as the man entered behind Garrett. Holding out her hand, Emily shook his. The chief met her eyes briefly, gave a short nod, and retreated, closing the door to the office behind him.

"Yeah," He nodded, his glasses sliding a fraction down his nose as he did so. He pushed them back onto his face, roughly, "Yeah, I'm Jack."

"Thanks for coming in. I'm Agent Prentiss, this is Agent Jareau." JJ stepped up to shake his hand, then gestured to the sofa.

"Please," She said, gently, "Have a seat."

As JJ pulled up two chairs for them, Emily watched Allison sit down. He was a slight man, but given that they knew he was a runner, that was to be expected. If she didn't already have all of his information, as provided by Garrett, she would have guessed that he was in his mid-forties, easily approaching fifty. It was hard to believe that the man sitting in front of her was only thirty-six years old.

"Mr Garrett," JJ began, "We need to ask you a few questions about the scene you discovered this morning."

"About...about the little girl?" His voice cracked, and Emily's heart went out to him. He was nodding again, and starting to remind Emily of those bobble-head dolls she occasionally saw in people's cars. "Of course. I was on my run," He started, before either of them had a chance to pose the question. He spoke quickly,as though the faster he got through his story, the less he would feel it. That never worked, Emily knew that all too well. "I always run in the Currahee Challenge-" He obviously saw the question on JJ's lips because he managed to elaborate before he was asked, "The annual six mile race along the Colonel Sink Trail. You know, "three miles up, three miles down." It's rough, but it's tradition. I do it every year." He was shaking his head now, not nodding anymore. His eyes had taken on a vacant quality. He wasn't with them anymore, he was back on that trail. "Been running that trail for twenty years. Never came across anything like that before."

Emily met JJ's eyes. The moment passed in silence, and they let it. It was a lot, even for them. Truthfully, it ever stopped being a lot. They could acclimatise, desensitise, compartmentalise, but there would always be a case that dug deeper than the rest, one that unsettled the ground on which they built their practice, opened old wounds and tore fresh ones. For witnesses, oftentimes it was their first wound. And the first was always the one that cut the deepest. Emily could see the trauma in Jack Allison's eyes. It was the same trauma she had seen in the mirror a thousand times over. She cleared her throat, softly.

"Mr Allison, I need you to take yourself back to moments before you came across Thalia's body," She pressed, gently, "I know you gave a statement to Chief Garrett, but, having had time to reflect on it, it's possible that you missed something. Anything at all. Something you saw, heard, even smelled. Anything can be helpful to us."

Jack's face darkened with concentration and Emily could practically see the thoughts flying around his head. She watched as they flit across his eyes.

"Please, Mr Allison," She reassured him, "Anything at all. There may be something you think is entirely inconsequential. Sometimes it's the smallest details that can make the biggest difference."

"I remember, I was running. I was feeling good, so I was pushing myself. The trek up the hill, it's torture, but when you're on your way down, sometimes that's even worse because your legs just want to _go_, you know." He paused fora moment. Emily saw his eyes flicker, watched him run his tongue over dry lips. Heard the rattle of his breath in his chest. She felt for him, she really did. "It was muddy. I must have hit a patch of it. I fell, twisted my ankle. When I was getting up, I'd dropped my water bottle, thrown it, really, into the bushes. I went to get it and...and she was just...lying there."

His voice stuttered to a stop. His bottom lip shook. His eyes moved, met Emily's, moved away again. Neither Emily nor JJ pushed this time. There was no need to. He swallowed, heavily,and then continued. His voice was quieter, thicker.

"I saw someone," He said, "I told Garrett this." The girls nodded, this was in their file. "I called out to him. He didn't turn around, so I didn't see his face and the woods were too dim to make much out. But he didn't come when I called and I couldn't...I couldn't leave her there. So I called the police and I let him go. I let him go."

"Thank you, Mr Allison," Emily shook his hand, bringing their meeting to an end. "Please, if there's anything else, please get in touch."

They stood, shaking his hand again.

"Mr Allison," JJ said, as he began to leave, "There are people I can put you in touch with. People who can help you process what you saw this morning."

Allison regarded her a moment, quiet and thoughtful. Then he shook his head.

"Thank you, but no." And, a moment later, he was gone.

"So," JJ turned back to Emily as she closed the door, "We have a sum-total of...nothing?"

"Looks that way," Emily sighed as she fell back into one of the chairs. She held her head in her hands for a moment. "I feel like we're getting nowhere."

* * *

"Seven bodies," Morgan announced, as he entered the room. The girls started, turning to look at him. He was angry, they could see that in his face. Beneath the surface, he was seething. He sat on the sofa beside JJ, head in his hands, and neither of them spoke to him. His wounds were obviously open and bleeding. "Seven little girls we found, out there in the woods. Youngest can't have been more than five years old."

JJ could see Rossi outside, talking to Garrett. She wondered what he and Morgan had found, what he was consulting Garrett on. Beside her, Derek still had his head in his hands. Absently, she didn't notice she was fiddling with the ring on her finger until Derek's hand shot out and grasped hers, gently.

"Stop, please," He mumbled.

She stopped, still looking at Rossi, when, behind him, Hotch and Reid enterred the police station. Hotch clapped Rossi on the back as he and Reid passed, and then the three of them were enterring the room.

"We've got Penelope looking up any cases of missing girls over the past couple of years, in Toccoa and any surrounding towns that are within driving distance." His face was solemn. The expression on his face was one they had all seen a thousand times. Hotch's walls went up at times like this. He was a father. Like JJ, anything involving kids. It got to him. "There was no sign of sexual assault at the ME's office. She did say that the Unsub carved the symbol into the girl's foreheads before he killed them."

"Oh, god," JJ sighed, "Those poor little girls."

"The question is why?" Emily pressed, "The symbol is the most significant thing here. The dumpsite, sure. The pile up of bodies, of course. But the symbol. If we can identify that, then we can get him."

"The pentagram comes traditionally from Christianity. Each of the five points stood for the five wounds received by Jesus during his cricifixion; the nails in both of his hands and feet, and the spear wound in his side. Contrastingly, in modern culture, the pentagram is used in many contexts. The Hollywood Walk of Fame, as one example. Thirdly, in Wiccan culture, the pentagram is used to bring together all five elements." Reid reeled off.

"Okay, so maybe our guy is a profound Christian, symbolically recreating the crucifixion?" JJ shot out.

"If you're gonna recreate a crucifixion," Morgan said, "I hate to say it, but you just perform the crucifixion. This guy is more subtle than that."

"Elements. We found the girls in the woods, right? In the dirt. The earth." Emily suggested, walking towards the board. She studied the pictures. It was fine to run with that theory, but if they couldn't put the pieces together, they'd only make their job harder, and travel further from the truth, further from catching the Unsub.

"Seven bodies," Morgan said, again.

"We know," JJ snapped.

There was a long moment of silence. It pressed on each of them. This was the point in the investigation, Emily knew, where it looked hopeless. Where they felt helpless. They had to take this moment. It stretched out, long and painful. And then, they sprung into action.

"I want to take Allison to the crime scene," Emily told Hotch, "See if there's anything there that triggers his memory."

"Of course, you and JJ head there now." Hotch nodded, "Rossi, you and I are going to talk to the parents of the girls we've identified." His phone rang and he took it out of his pocket, putting it on speaker. "You're on speaker, Garcia, we're all here."

"So, Thalia is from Toccoa, so is Alexa, but from what I could find about the other victims, they weren't. Dental records from our third victim match those of seven year old Meredith Thatcher, her parents filed her missing persons report roughly six months ago, the case ran dry pretty quickly. She's from Winder, Georgia. The information you sent me about the bodies, I'm still working through but I can tell you that one of them is Orla Canon. She went missing from Sugar Hill, a year and a half ago. She was just six."

"Thanks, Garcia." Hotch hung up. Turning to Reid and Morgan, he set them into action, "Morgan, Reid, start putting together a geographic profile based on what Garcia's found. This guy has a wide comfort zone, but hopefully it will still tell us something about where he's comfortable hunting."

Emily and JJ picked Allison up on their way back to the dumpsite.

"We appreciate you coming with us," JJ told him, "We understand you've been through a lot this morning, but we think that taking you back might shed some more light. Anything that you can give us will help."

"Of course," He agreed, "Although I don't know what more I could tell you."

The crime scene was quiet when they arrived. The dogs were gone, the ground disturbed in so many places. The yellow tape was still up, and would remain so until the case was closed. There was one police officer standing guard, and Emily and JJ showed him their badges before he would let them cross the line.

"My god," Allison exclaimed, as they neared the freshly turned earth. "How many bodies?"

JJ and Emily exchanged a glance between themselves before Emily spoke.

"Seven, following the three that were discovered this morning. Ten, altogether." Allison was shaking his head, a hand pressed to his forehead. He stared around at the ground, his eyes flitting from one patch of disturbed ground to another.

"No, no, no. So many." He was muttering, under his breath.

JJ's phone and as she lifted it to her ear, she glanced between Emily and Allison and then walked away, back to where the police officer was guarding the tape. Emily's hands were in her pockets as she turned, and a breeze drifted through the clearing. It was a rather warm day, but the wind that swept through had a chill and, beneath her windbreaker, Emily shivered.

"So many," Allison repeated, under his breath.

"Is this bringing anything at all back, Mr Allison?" Emily asked, desperately, though she could tell by the expression on his face that Allison was too overwhelmed by the evidence of the shallow graves to concentrate right now. She didn't press, as his eyes continued to flash across the earth. He looked...angry. She could understand that. Who wouldn't be angry, having been confronted by such a horrific reality.

Frowning, Emily glanced around. The breeze was stronger now, and it disturbed her hair.

"Mr Allison, could you show me where you fell, please?" She asked, withdrawing her hands from her pockets. He didn't register her voice. "Mr Allison?"

"Hm? Oh, of course," He began to walk away from the path, further into the woods. "There's another path, lower down, here. The route of the run goes down this way."

Through the small patch of trees, crunching on the dry leaves as they went, they came upon the path he was talking about. Emily glanced around. This path was even more secluded than the one above it. She expected they joined, at some point. As they stood there, she felt water on her face.

"It's raining." She muttered, quietly, bringing a hand up to wipe the rain from her cheek. Then, glancing around again, eyes raking over the dry leaves they had crushed on their short walk, Emily realised what had been bothering her. Before she could move, however, she felt a sudden pain crack across the back of her head, and her world went black.

* * *

**A/N**

**I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. I've written and re-written it. I think it probably should have been split into two, but it was frustrating me, so here it is. I hope you guys like it more than I did and I also hope the next one is better.**

**I also did a bad thing and started on a new story, but I've made a promise to myself not to post any of that until this one is finished, and I still have lots of ideas for this one, so I'm not abandoning it, don't worry. I won't as long as you don't.**

**Wash yer feckin hands. Stay safe. **

**Steph x**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

"What the hell do you mean, she's _gone_?" Hotch demanded, practically screaming at JJ through the phone. From the driving seat, Rossi's alarmed face shot around, trying to catch his eye. Hotch couldn't look at him, too afraid of what Rossi might see on his face.

JJ had the phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder, her gun thrust out in front of her as she frantically stared around the clearing. She had followed Emily's boot prints through the mud and leaves, and the clearing was empty, nothing but the wind to disturb the leaves now. "She's gone, Hotch." JJ said, desperately. "Spence phoned me, about the geographic profile. I came back to tell her and she's just..._gone_. Allison, too." Spotting something, JJ knelt. On the dried leaves in front of her, clear as day, there was a spatter of blood. It was tiny, barely anything, but it was there. "Hotch, there's blood. Not a lot, but it's here."

"He blitz attacked her," Hotch assumed, dropping his head into his hand, "It's the only way he would have been able to get the upper hand over her," He said, angrily, as Rossi turned the car around in the middle of the road. "You're sure she's gone?"

"Hotch," JJ said, insistently, "The officer posted here has been looking with me, there's no sign of her. Maybe Allison had a car hidden nearby? There's a road down beneath the dumpsite. From the looks of the leaves, this is definitely the way they came, but then there's nothing."

Hotch pressed his fist into his forehead, eyebrows furrowing deeply, as he tried to maintain composure. He paused a moment, thoughts racing through his brain. Fear seeped in, and he tried to push it aside, trying not to get distracted. "Hotch?" JJ's voice pulled him back to reality.

"JJ, get back to the precinct. We need to regroup, and quickly. I'll have Garrett send more officers to the dumpsite, see if they can find anything."

"I'm on my way." The line went dead.

* * *

Her gun was gone. Somehow, besides the pain, that was the first realisation that came to Emily when she regained consciousness. There was a thumping behind her right ear, and an incessant buzzing in her eardrum. Her left shoulder was numb, and it took her a moment to realise she was lying on it. That was how she knew her gun was gone; it would be digging into her hip if it was still there, but other than her numb shoulder, the floor on which she lay was relatively comfortable. Her badge was probably gone, too, because she couldn't feel the outline of it in her back pocket. It made sense, she thought, to get rid of the credentials when you killed a federal officer. He was probably going to destroy them. She hoped Hotch would find them, before that happened. It was wet, too, where she lay on the ground. Somewhere nearby, there was a dripping. It was constant and infuriatingly consistent. like a metronome she couldn't stop.

The next thing that registered with her was how badly it _stank_. A foul, filthy smell. Like the inside of a trash can. She couldn't see. There was pressure over her eyes. Blindfolded. Of course. The thumping pain in the back of her head was spreading, slowly, and each time she moved, the pain surged and Emily moaned in discomfort. Nausea began to creep in. Her hand were bound behind her back and when she tried to sit up, she discovered that her ankles were, too. Pushing herself, with much difficulty, to sit up, Emily felt a wave of nausea wash over her, and had to pause a moment, her head pressed against her knees, before it settled down. Once the urge to vomit receded, Emily felt around for the knot around her wrist. He'd tied it high, so that she couldn't reach it, and had wound rope between her fingers, where it rubbed uncomfortably and separated her fingers so she couldn't get a grasp on anything, anyway. He was smart. Emily pulled, twisted, did everything she could to try and get some slack in the rope, to no avail. Giving up on the rope for now, Emily tilted her head down towards her knees, trying to use her jeans to push the blindfold off of her face. It was a scarf, she decided, as the thin material shifted. The thumping in her head grew stronger as she tilted her head, but she tried to ignore it. The blindfold slid off easily in the end, but it made no difference. Wherever she was, it was dark. Blackness still pressed against her eyes, even once the blindfold was removed. The stench seemed to have grown stronger now, and Emily fought the nausea again. Even as she gazed around at the blackness, Emily felt a wave of exhaustion pass over her. Somewhat aware that she likely had a concussion, she fought to keep her eyes open. Even as she did, Emily felt the drowsiness fight it's way in until she couldn't stop it, and her head fell forwards onto her knees. The blackness swallowed her once more.

* * *

"Allison is our Unsub?" Morgan demanded, angrily, as Hotch, JJ and Rossi arrived back at the station simultaneously. Spencer had his back to them, didn't even turn away from the board as the three of them entered the office. He was staring at the board, at their evidence. Emily's face was already up on the board, Hotch noticed, and he suddenly couldn't look at it. It was the same one as her I.D badge, the one he saw everyday and in every file she had ever handed him. It was the same one they'd put up when she went after Doyle. Right now, Hotch couldn't look at it.

"I never would have suspected Jack," Garrett said, entering the room. "You've got the wrong guy," He insisted, "The guy teaches kids at the school. He runs the charity race every year, donates all of the money he raises to the hospital. He's a model citizen, he's a good guy."

"Your _good guy_ has our friend and has potentially murdered seven young girls," JJ spat at him, and Hotch shot her a look. Reluctantly, JJ quieted, but Hotch saw her clench her fists, tight.

"Why does he donate that money to the hospital?" Rossi asked, having picked up on the comment. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and though Hotch knew he was as worried as the rest of them, his face displayed a surprising calm. "Out of the goodness of his heart?"

Garrett hesitated a moment, fumbling for his words.

"Chief Garrett,we need your help," Hotch pressed, "Anything you don't tell us is an obstruction of justice and assists in the endangerment of a federal agent."

It wasn't a quite a threat, but Garrett raked a hand through his hair, glancing, helplessly, around at the rest of them. He found no sympathetic eyes. "Jack had a daughter. Tyla. Brightest little girl you ever met. All blonde hair and blue eyes," Garrett was smiling, fondly, "He taught my kids, you know, Jack, I mean. That's how I know him. Know him pretty well. Knew Tyla, too. Her mom, she died when Tyla was a tiny baby. Cancer." The smile had fallen from his face, and he wasn't looking at any of them anymore. His eyes were fixed on a spot on the floor. "Jack was driving the night she died. It was along the trail he runs. It was a lot of loss for him, his wife and his little girl, so quickly."

"She died on impact?" Morgan asked, quietly, from where he sat at the long table.

Garrett was shaking his head. "No," He said, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, "That would have been better. She was alive when I got there. I was an officer then, one of the first responders. She was in Jack's arms. Tiny. Broken. There was blood everywhere. All over the car, the road, Jack...Tyla. She was brain dead before we got to the hospital. Blood loss. Jack had to make the decision to turn off the machines. They let him sit with her all night. Held her hand and spoke to her all night. He turned the machine off the next morning. Nearly killed him."

They were quiet a moment.

"That's why he gives the money to the hospital." Garrett finished.

There was silence as they each took the information in. The tension in the room had grown with every word of Garrett's story. The hairs on JJ's arms stood on end as Hotch rounded on the chief.

"You didn't care to share this information?" He demanded. Garrett took a step back as the taller man towered over him. Rossi had to reach out a hand, which he placed on Hotch's shoulder. It was a gentle gesture, but the hand was strong and insistent. Beneath his hand, Rossi felt Hotch's muscles bunched and tense beneath his jacket.

"He reported the body," Garrett defended himself, hotly, "Why would he turn himself in?"

"Tyla," Morgan interrupted,"Was she about six years old?"

Garrett nodded, solemnly, and Morgan sighed, deeply. "Substitutes. So, why would he turn himself in?"

"Guilt?" Rossi suggested, but JJ was shaking her head.

"The guy he said he saw there," JJ told Hotch,neck snapping around, eyes boring into their team leader. He nodded, simply.

"You need to get another team out there, quickly." Hotch told Garrett, "There's a body we've not found yet. Reid?"

"I'm working on it," The younger agent said, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to dial Garcia's number. Rossi saw the question in Garrett's eyes and, angry as he was, took pity on the chief to offer an explanation.

"We need to find them. The kid's going to find out if he has any property nearby, anywhere he might be keeping Agent Prentiss."

"If she dies" Hotch told Garrett, with eyes that flashed with anger, "If she dies, I'll have your badge."

"You need a minute, Hotch," Rossi told him, gently. Hotch didn't want to take a minute, but he knew the older agent was right. With one last dark glare at Garrett, he strode from the room to the nearby deserted kitchenette. He needed the quiet because he could practically feel the seconds counting down, with each beat of the blood in his veins. Like the ticking of a clock. Like a metronome he couldn't stop. Emily would trust them to come for her, but he couldn't do that until he had a level head with which to think and, right now, he didn't have that. He had put her in danger, _again_. He knew what the rest of them would say, even Emily, if he expressed that feeling to them. They were here to do a job, and their job was dangerous. Their job came with risks. He hadn't known, it wasn't his fault. It didn't matter. He should have known. Emily, though, was resilient, and he was trying to hold onto that.

* * *

"Please, tell me you haven't been here for the past four days." It had been an awful case. They'd dealt with not one, but two serial killers, each trying to out-do the other. But, seeing her sitting on the sofa in his office, he opted for the comment that was almost a joke. She had that affect on him. He wanted to get home, he wanted to see Haley. Emily Prentiss was the last thing he had expected to be confronted with this evening.

She shook your head, and he didn't miss how the lights of his office glinted off of the sheet of her dark hair. "I heard you were coming back tonight."

That gave him paused, and he looked at her, confused. "Heard? How could you have _heard_ a thing like that?" Later, he would learn exactly how she had learned that information; Strauss. Forcing her into his pocket. Strauss could never have known how, years down the line, Hotch would be so grateful for what she had done. At the time, Emily had avoided the question altogether and, instead, presented him with a file.

"I appreciate your interest, Agent, but profiling is a specialty," He had told her, perhaps a little too harshly, "We can't let anyone who wants to just give it a whirl."

"The I-80 killer? Co-eds in Indiana?" She ignored him, indicating the file he was holding. Hotch had read it on the plane already, and he told her as much when she pressed him. "They aren't blitz attacks," She said, confidently. It was a conclusion he himself had already come to, and he was about to tell her so, but she was still talking. "This guy is organised. He's a white male, early 30s, and a smooth talker because, even after eleven victims, he can still convince educated women who know there's a predator out there to get into his car."

Hotch was impressed, though he didn't let it show on his face, and he had never admitted it to her since. She knew, though, she had to. It was getting more and more difficult for him to send her away. She was going to end up on his team, he knew. He was going to have to see her everyday. And, everyday, he'd imagine her with that _fucking_ ponytail. "How would you advise the police?" He questioned. _Come on_, he thought, selfishly, _trip up_.

Of course, she didn't.

"I would stake out the Ranch House, a club night in Gary," She told him, smoothly, as though she had anticipated the question which, he thought, she probably had. "They have a very popular ladies night. Look closely, you'll see that eight out of the eleven victims went missing on a Friday morning, so something gets this creep's motor running on Thursdays." She paused, looking up at him. He saw the passion and urgency in her eyes, the desperate need for him to believe her. She shook her head, sighed heavily. "This isn't a whirl, Agent Hotchner," She told him, and he unashamedly watched as her lips curled around his name, "I don't know how the paperwork for screwed up, or maybe you believe my parents pulled some strings, which they didn't, by the way. There was a sharpness to her tone when she said that, which was easy enough to profile, "I belong in this unit. And all I'm asking you for...is the chance to show you that."

He had stared at her a moment, while she looked up at him with those impossibly dark pools, almost pleading for him to believe her. His professionalism and his personal agenda were having a battle in his mind. He couldn't deny her talent. Profiling could be taught, to an extent. She had a natural talent, that much was obvious, and that much couldn't be taught. She was good; intimidatingly good, at her young age and level of experience. She was right. She belonged in the BAU. Much to his dismay.

* * *

Resilient. Strong. Stubborn. She would be okay. She was stronger than all of them. Hotch still couldn't quiet his mind. The more he thought of her, the worst it got. This was why there were rules. Rules that sought to prevent agents from developing relationships that led to this emotional turmoil. He was personally invested now. They all were, in truth, and though he had always worried a little more about Emily, he'd never felt it so intensely before. His anger was only mounting, not subsiding. Anger with Garrett, for not giving them all of the information. Anger with Emily, for straying with Allison. Anger with JJ. JJ had lost her. JJ should have been with her.

JJ chose exactly the wrong time to walk out of the office and into his line offire.

"Hotch, what's next?" She asked, approaching him. She could visibly see the tension, his brow was furrowed deeply, and his eyes were harsh when they met her own.

"Why did you split up?" He had rounded on her before he could help himself and saw the shock in JJ's face as her jaw dropped. "I send you out in pairs to keep you safe; so that things like this don't happen. We're a team. She was your partner. So, what happened? Why did you split up?"

JJ gaped at him, her mouth opening, but words failed her momentarily. Hotch watched, guilt surging in his chest, as he saw her eyes well up. JJ shook her head. She knew he was worried, they all were. But she shook her head because she could hear it in his voice, the pain and worry this was inflicting on him. "I don't need you to accuse me right now, Hotch," She told him, "I feel bad enough already." Swallowing, JJ was unable to meet her boss' eyes for a moment. Then she did, and he saw steel there. "But this isn't my fault. This isn't Emily's fault. Isn't that what you always tell us?"

Hotch was shaking his head now, too. "No, no, it's not." He backtracked, "It's the Unsub's fault. JJ, I'm sorry."

"Right," JJ said, shortly, inhaling deeply and brushing the tears away from her eyes, annoyed by their presence and by his accusation. "I know you're stressed right now," She pressed, looking into his eyes and hoping he could see everything she wasn't saying, "More stressed than the rest of us are, but Emily needs you to keep your head in this."

Hotch saw it all in her eyes. He had suspected, obviously, but now he knew. How much JJ knew, he was unsure, but he was certain that Emily had told her some of what had gone on between them. But JJ's eyes weren't accusing, they were compassionate, reassuring. More than he deserved, after laying into her.

"You sound like my boss," He attempted a joke, halfheartedly.

"Yeah?" JJ answered back, without hesitation, "Good, at least one of us does, because two minutes ago you weren't acting like mine."

She was right. Any other time, Hotch would have stepped on her attitude, but she was right and he deserved it. He nodded, and she returned the gesture.

"You good?" She asked.

"I'm good."

"Good." JJ inhaled, deeply. "We'll get your girl back, you know."

Something in Hotch's chest surged at JJ's comment, but he hushed it, not acknowledging it aloud.

"We will," Was all he said, though he couldn't help but remember the last time they'd lost her, and how that had gone down.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Emily couldn't see him, but she could hear him. He was sloshing through water nearby. Water. That was good. She had figured out where she was; somewhere linked up to the town's sewage system. It was the only was she could justify it smelling so awful and being so dark at the same time. They were underground, of that much she was certain. She only knew because of the pressed on her eardrums, and, even then, she didn't know how she knew. The pain in her arm was back, from the knife wound but the headache had subsided, somewhat, though she still felt tired. But the intense silence was worsening the buzzing in her ear. The high pitched noise was almost more annoying than the ropes wrapped tightly around her wrist, which were beginning to chafe. She could already feel that they had broken the tender skin between her a few of her fingers. Even twitching her hands hurt, but she hadn't stopped trying to get out of them, and she slowly felt the rope giving way, becoming looser. It was taking too long, though.

When he neared, she stilled.

"I didn't want to do this, you know," He told her, quietly. Emily said nothing, but listened intently as his voice shattered the stillness. "I didn't want to hurt you. I almost liked you. But I couldn't hurt her. She was too much like her. And I know what I need now. The little ones, they're not enough. It has to be you, instead. With you, it will work."

Emily had no idea what he was talking about. She had no idea who he was talking about. His words were jumbled, even as he spoke them, and Emily could barely put them together in her head, she was so disoriented by the blackness and the now dull ache in behind her ear. Who was the 'her' he was talking about? Or was there more than one?

"Tonight," He was nodding, "It will have to be. Still a full moon. Meant to be, you see," He was rambling, but she caught most of it this time, "Meant to find you. Meant to be you."

Allison. Definitely his voice. How had they missed this? She should have known, she should have seen it.

"JJ," She mumbled, suddenly fearful, her voice coming out quiet, "JJ?"

"There's no one else here, Agent Prentiss," He told her. "No one but you and I."

She strained, trying desperately to form a coherent sentence. "D'you hurt JJ?"

There was quiet in the darkness, and Emily felt her stomach drop. She couldn't breathe for a moment, fear gripping her like a steel hand around her windpipe.

"No," The hand released her and Emily gasped, sucking gratefully at the air, "I couldn't. The hair...blue eyes. Looks too much like her."

Groggy as she was, Emily was adding to their profile in her head. _Her. Too much like her._ Who?

"Who?" She breathed, "Too much like who?"

Again, silence. She could sense his eyes on her. He hadn't bothered to put the blindfold back on, she noted. That had probably been a precaution for if she woke up before he got her down here. Now, in the dark and the damp, it was pointless, useless. He didn't need it. And, besides, she knew who he was, anyway. He had no intentions of letting her get out of here alive.

"Tyla," He finally spoke, gently. "My Tyla."

Emily could tell from the tender way he spoke her voice that Tyla was his child. His daughter. It was slowly beginning to make sense to her, and if she hadn't been so out of it, Emily would have gotten there a lot faster.

"She was about six, right?" Emily was putting it altogether in her head, "That's why you took those little girls. They're substitutes for her. Did you kill her the same way you killed them?"

A hand shot out in the darkness and, with a roar of rage, he smacked her across the face. Arms and legs tied, Emily couldn't stop herself from falling, and the pain on her cheek was followed by more pain as her forehead smacked off the concrete of the floor. Whiteness, like fireworks, exploded behind her eyelids and Emily felt a warmth begin to seep down her face. Blood.

"Don't you dare," Allison was angry now, and closer than he had been. He reached for her in the dark, his hands finding her arms, and pulled her to her feet, where she balanced precariously, ankles still bound. "Don't you _dare," _He shoved her backwards, and Emily shrieked as her head was slammed against a smooth wall, and slid, helplessly, back to her knees. "I would never." As quickly as it had come, his anger subsided. He was crouching right in front of her now, so close that Emily could feel the warmth of his breath as his anger turned to sobs. "She was my baby. All I had left of my Olivia. I would _never_ hurt her. What kind of a father do you think I am?"

Emily stayed very quiet. There were tears pooling in her own eyes, as she felt the blood run down her face. She closed her eyes tight against it, but it avoided her eyes altogether, travelling smoothly past her eyebrow and down the outside of her cheek. It was a steady flow of blood, but Emily knew that head wounds always looked worse than they were. There was always more blood than cut. The blunt force to the back of her head, however, in such quick succession to the last blow, was dangerous, and even in the dark, Emily felt the dizziness set in. She kept her lips pressed tight together, tears of pain seeping out of the corners of her eyes, for fear of angering him again. Without her gun, with her hands tied behind her back and her ankles locked together, there was nothing she could do to defend herself. There was nothing Emily hated so much as feeling helpless.

"I asked you a question," His voice was low, deep, slow. The sudden calmness made Emily wary and she swallowed, deeply, before she spoke. When she did finally speak, her voice came out in a rasp.

"I'm sorry," She said, wanting to appease his anger, protect herself for the time being, "I didn't know. I'm sorry for your loss."

"You are?" He sounded genuinely surprised, and regardless of what she knew, Emily was sorry. Too often, she came across this same story. Parents without children who lost their minds. She was sorry, and she told him so.

"You've done..._terrible _things, Jack," She started, slowly, "I think we both know that. You know what you've done isn't right. But, yes, I am sorry that you lost Tyla. Nobody deserves that."

Again, the silence. Emily tensed, pulling her knees up to her chest, anticipating a blow that didn't come.

"Terrible things," Jack agreed, through the darkness. "Terrible. But, after tonight, there won't be any more terrible things," He was rambling again, "After tonight, everything will be better. Just one more. You'll be my last. And then it will be better."

"How?" She asked, unable to help herself, "How will it be better after you kill me, Jack?"

"Because I'll have my Tyla back."

He was insane. Emily could hear it now. She thought back to the man she had met that morning, with his distant eyes and his perfect story of how he'd stumbled onto Thalia's body. What was it he had been saying, when she and JJ took him back to the site?

"_So many," _That was what he'd said, when he saw how many bodies they'd found. "_So many_."

"How many were there, Jack?" She asked. The way Emily saw it, he didn't expect her to make it out of this alive. So, he had nothing to lose.

"Twelve," He answered her, immediately.

_Twelve_. Emily closed her eyes, dropped her head. He'd killed twelve little girls. She took a moment, for the girls they hadn't been able to save. Thalia, Alexa, Meredith, and the nine other little girls whose names she didn't know. She shook her head in the dark.

"Jack," She tried to reason with him, knowing that in his mental state, it was probably pointless, but feeling the desperate need to try, anyway, "Jack, you can't bring her back. I'm so sorry, but you can't. Tyla's gone. She wouldn't have wanted you to do this.

"_You don't know!"_ He was yelling again, and Emily shrunk back against the wall, anticipating violence. She heard a smack, but didn't feel anything, and deduced from Jack's swearing that he had punched the wall. "You don't know what you're talking about," He spat at her, "I know! I've seen it. I've learned. I taught myself how to do it, and I'm going to bring her back. I just need the right offering. That's where you come into it. But you've got until midnight, when the full moon rises."

Emily heard him splash away, and when she was sure he was gone, she exhaled.

His footsteps were receeding now, slowly. Emily didn't know where he was going. They would know now, that it was him. They would know he had her. How long had she been down here? It was easy to loose track of time in the dark, and she didn't know how long she had been unconscious for. If JJ had gotten back to them..._if. _If Allison had been telling the truth about not hurting her. He had. She really thought he had. The emotion in his voice, when he spoke about his daughter. He wouldn't have hurt JJ. Would he?

It hurt to think. Her head was still bleeding, and she felt it drip from her chin onto her chest as she sat there. Even if they didn't find her, she might well be dead before they got to her at this rate. _Head wounds bleed a lot. _Hotch would find her. He would. He wouldn't let them sleep until they found her. They wouldn't want to sleep until they found her. But she was tired, and it hurt too much to think.

* * *

"Hey, I'm sorry, I thought you said 10:30."

"I did, for you."

She knew she was in for it, when he said that. Reluctantly, she took the seat opposite him. From a glance, she could see what he was reading. She caught her name.

"I received Dr Merrill's evaluation and I just wanted to review it with you."

Uncomfortable now, and slightly annoyed at his having drawn her here under false pretenses, Emily bristled and cast her eyes about the jet. "Here?"

Things between them had been difference since she'd gotten back. She had seen it in his eyes, when she had walked into the conference room, when she'd seen him for the first time in seven months. He was unshaven, rough. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. They all did. By comparison, she knew she looked like she'd just come back from a weekend at the spa. She'd been lonely, but they'd been through hell. Morgan was looking at her like he didn't recognise her. Penelope was gaping. Rossi's face was impassive, but she thought she could detect the lingering of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Emily's eyes past swiftly over Reid, because she couldn't stand to see the hurt she knew she would find there.

JJ looked like she could cry with relief, at no longer having to keep the secret. But Hotch. Hotch was looking at her like he had so long ago. Like she was someone to be suspicious of. Someone not to be trusted. Someone he thought he had known, who turned out to be someone entirely different.

And here he was, bringing up her psych eval.

"I get tired of being profiled through my office window," He told her, attempting a joke, but Emily wasn't about to take that bait. It was difficult enough, being here, alone, with him. Things were too stiff, too awkward, too different, Before Doyle, they'd been in a good place. A great place. Lauren Reynolds had shattered that.

"What is there to discuss?" Emily asked, unwilling to be profiled by her boss, shutting down any cooperation he thought she might give him. "She gave me a clean bill of health."

Hotch's eyes bored into hers. She knew better than to try to fool profilers, but that didn't mean she had to make it easy for him. She looked back, her own eyes blank, unassuming. She wasn't about to give him any reason to take her out of the field again. Hotch, recognising the walls that were going up, the stubbornness that he was fighting against. He glanced back at the file, reading the words in front of him.

"Patient shows no hesitation tackling difficult goals as part of reintegrating into her life." Emily was nodding. These were exactly the words she had wanted the psyche to write, or, at least, words to this effect. She had been very particular about the language she used, when talking to the doctor. But Hotch was still talking. "She has reached out to her mother."

His eyes found hers and, for the first time, Emily felt the need to defend herself. "I'm going to!" She insisted, knowing he could see through the lie as easily as she could tell it.

"And has started a romantic relationship with a man named Sergio." Was that a smile playing at the corner of his lips? Emily would have sworn it was.

But, for that, she didn't have an answer. She tilted her head, looking for one, and licked her lip, in the way she did when she was thinking, but there was nothing to be said. He didn't wait for her to speak, either.

"Now, I don't care if you lie to your therapist," He was saying, "All I care about is how your behaviour affects your job."

And there it was. No, I care about you. No, you've been through a lot. All Hotch, all business. Just how he had been with her way back when, before they'd earned each other's trust. Before he knew her. He didn't know her anymore. That was how he felt, and there was nothing Emily could do about that. Regardless she was not about to let him accuse her of not doing her job.

"I don't think it has," She defended, passionately.

"You've been overcompensating," He accused, evenly.

Knowing he was right, but refusing to die on this hill, Emily rolled her eyes, shaking her hair out of her face. "How have I-"

Hotch, obviously, had come armed.

"You rushed to repair your relationship with Morgan." Strike one. "You've become an emotional sounding board for Reid and Rossi." Strike two.

"That's being a good friend." Even as she said it, she knew, they both knew, that it was more than that. She hated that he could call her out like this.

"You offered me parenting advice." Strike three. And you're out.

She sucked in a breath, knowing the game was over.

"Okay," She admitted, reluctantly. "Maybe I have been working a little bit harder to regain people's trust," _Including yours._ "Is that such a bad thing?"

Hotch was shaking his head and, this time, when he spoke, it was softer, calmer, kinder. "No," He said, simply, "It only is if you use it to avoid dealing with what you went through."

Emily looked at him a moment and, for the first time, behind those distrustful eyes, she saw concern.

"But I'm not," She tried to reassure him. "I chose to come back here. Why?" She asked, before he could, anticipating his next question. "Because I care about the people I work with? Yes. But also because it's _clean_," She insisted, willing him to understand, to feel how much she meant it. "I know who the good guys and the bad guys are. I don't have to worry about..._screwing_ someone over to make a case."

He understood. He was all softness now. It was unnerving to see, but reassuring at the same time. "Okay," He said, gently, letting her be. "I want you to make a deal with me. You're going to go weeks, months, even, feeling fine." He was, she knew, speaking from experience. "And then you're going to have a bad day."

He was earnest, his eyes imploring. She wanted to reassure him, but she knew he was right.

"Just let me know when you do."

* * *

The seriousness had dissolved a moment later, with the quip about Sergio, but Emily had felt the weight of that promise she made to him for days after.

Clinging to that, the softness of him, the depths of those eyes, the lengths she knew he would go to for them, for the team, for _her_. That was what would get her through, she knew. Even stronger than all of her pains, her gunshot wound, the blunt force to the back of her head, the wound on her forehead, her bruised and bleeding hands, even stronger than all of that, was the knowledge that they were _coming_ for her. In the dark. Waving flashlights and calling her name. They would find her. He would find her. It was all she had to cling to. It was enough.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

There was a button, once. Penelope had mentioned it, he was certain. It was set to count down a minute and, each time it was pushed, the minute would reset. It was some online website, Penelope had said that millions of people pushed this button, that they only had one push and once it was used up, that was it. All they could do was sit, and wait, and watch other people use their pushes, while the clock continued to count down, reset, and count down again.

That was how he felt right now. Watching the clock, each time it hit the twelve, Hotch felt the minute start all over again. He just didn't know how many of those minutes Emily had left, or which would be her last. He hadn't asked Penelope what happened when the clock finally reached zero. Nobody had spoken for a while, but even when they did, he hardly heard them. All he could hear was the ticking of that damned clock. _Tick, tock. _Counting down Emily's life, to the second.

Her picture was up on their evidence board. Hotch hated that. They all did. JJ sat with her back to it, unable to look. Reid kept glancing at it, and Hotch knew he was thinking about the last time Emily's face was up there. Last time, they had lost her. Reid had lost her for good, or so Hotch had let him believe. The kid had never really forgiven them for that, Hotch thought, and truthfully he couldn't blame him. If someone had let him believe she was dead, for seven months, he didn't think he'd ever be able to let that go. The accusation and anger had died away, but the truth had never been the same ever since. Now, watching Reid's eyes flicker from the page he was staring at, to the picture of Emily, the same one from her I.D badge, Hotch felt the air growing thin around him. _Tick, tock_.

"It's getting dark," Morgan told them, though he needn't have. They could all see. The windows were growing dim, the light fading faster than they had ever noticed was possible. The glow of streetlights began to illuminate the glass.

The body of their witness had been found several hours before. A black man, bald, just as Allison had said. Well built, healthy, dressed for a run. He had been found about half a mile from the dumpsite. Blunt force trauma to the head.

"Allison wanted us to think he was our unsub," JJ muttered, indicating the picture that sat on the table, of their latest victim. His name was Layton Cole. He was only twenty-four years old. "He set it all up perfectly."

"Not quite," Rossi interrupted her, "There were holes in his story. Emily figured something out. Otherwise, why take her?"

"She's a federal agent," Morgan was pacing back and forth, anxious to be useful, "He knows he's not getting out of this."

"He might have made a run for it," JJ pointed out.

"If he has, Emily's already dead." Hotch practically spat at them. Again, the silence. Again, the _tick, tock_. Hotch, sick of it, charged across the room and tore the clock from the wall. The batteries clattered onto the table as he ripped them out and, finally, the ticking had stopped. His breathing was heavy, and his team were staring at him. Embarassed and angry with himself, Hotch stood up, pushing back his hair, which he knew had been displaced both by the late hour and his outburst. His blazer had been long discarded, his shirt sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up to his elbows. Regardless, he felt hot beneath their gazes.

"Excuse me," He muttered, and for the second time that day, he had to take himself away from his team.

The air outside was cold, harsh, even, against his skin, but Hotch welcomed it. It was sobering. The atmosphere in that room, the pressure he felt, the _fear_. It was too much, too familiar. Hotch couldn't help but feel likehe had been here before, with Haley. The helplessness was too much, an unwelcome feeling that made him sick to his stomach. Leaning against the brick wall of the police station, Hotch didn't know whether he wanted to scream or sleep. His mind had been working so hard that he was mentally exhausted but physically he felt he could run a marathon. He would, immediately, without question, enthusiasically, if he thought it would help him find Emily. Instead, he was stuck here, with no leads and, currently, no hope. And, most painfully, no Emily.

As he stood there, and contemplated over his incapacity to _do_ anything, he felt the presence of another person. Looking up from the floor, he caught sight of a woman nearby. She was looking at him, but in the dark, Hotch couldn't make out her face and for half of a heartbeat, his breath stopped in his chest. Then she spoke, and his heart dropped again.

"I was wondering, can you help me?" She asked, in a voice that shook. For a moment, Hotch could set his own suffering aside. He straightened up and took a step towards her.

"Of course," He said, "Are you alright?"

"I, uh, are you a police officer?"

"I'm FBI," He reached for his badge, remembered his jacket was inside, and gestured to the police station, "We should really talk inside. It's warmer, I can get you a drink."

She stepped back at his suggestion, shaking her head. "I can't," Her voice was quiet now, anxiety in every syllable. "I shouldn't, I-"

"Please," Hotch tried to reassure her, "Whatever it is, we can help."

Reluctantly, the girl stepped towards him, into the light. She looked like she had been crying and she was writing her hands in front of her. Her fingernails were picked and bleeding and it hurt to see that, it only reminded him of _her_. Leading her inside, Hotch led the girl to a seat and walked towards the coffee station. JJ, having noticed this, joined him a moment later.

"Who's she?" She asked, softly. He shrugged, as he stirred the coffee.

"I don't know. She asked for help."

"Anything to do with Emily?"

"I don't know." He repeatedly, helplessly. They wandered over together and Hotch sat beside her, handing her the cup. In the light, he couild see her better. Her face, though red from crying, was youthful. Early 20s, he assessed, easily. Her hair was recently washed, her clothes clean and stylish. So not a runaway.

"Thanks," The blonde said, taking the cup from him. She didn't lift it to her lips. "I can help you," she mumbled, "The man, your investigation."

Hotch met JJ's eyes. He shouldn't be the one having this conversation, he kenw. He had a conflict of interest. He hated it, but they were the facts.

"I'll just go and get another agent who can speak to you with Agent Jareau, here," He said, attempting to stand, but the girls hand was suddenly wrapped around his wrist.

"If I don't say it now, I never will," Her eyes were wide and scared and, fearful of her silence, Hotch sat back down. The hand around his wrist did not let up. "I saw him. Must have been two years ago, now. My little girl, Martha, I'd taken her to the woods. We were hiking. She likes to find butterflies, so we take pictures. She was gone from my sight for barely a moment. Felt like I blinked and she was gone. I screamed her name for so long. I ran around those woods thinking my baby was gone forever. He had her," She nodded to the picture of Allison, one of many that had been posted up and around town, as well as sent to the local and statewide media stations. "He was holding her like a baby when I found them. She was six at the time. Too big to be held like that. I begged him to let her go and he looked at me. He was crying. He looked so confused, I thought he must be crazy. He let her go. He just sat there and cried, crying about someone called Tyla. His daughter, I figured. He seemed so broken. We aren't from here, we're from a couple of towns over. I never reported it, I felt too bad for the guy. But it was him. I know it was him."

She was crying by the end of her story. JJ had taken the seat beside her and was holding her hand, reassuringly.

"And Martha? She's-?" JJ prompted.

"At home. With my mom." The blonde, whose name Hotch still didn't know, replied. "She's fine. But all of those other little girls. If I'd reported it, they'd still be alive, right?" She looked at Hotch, eyes imploring. He didn't know if she wanted reassurance or confirmation of her guilt. "Right?"

"That doesn't matter now," Hotch told her, truthfully. "There's nothing we can do to help them, we can only give the families closure. But he has someone else now, a woman. Do you think you could help us? Tell us where you found him with Martha?"

"I've triangulated his comfort zone according to Miss Lynd's story," Reid was saying, not five minutes later. The triangle on the board was made out of red tape. It was big, but it was something.

"Let's go."

* * *

Even in her disoriented state, Emily knew that it was now or never. It was cold now, as well as wet, and she was shivering. Disoriented as she was, she knew that if she stood any chance at all, it was to make a move now, before Allison came back for her. The darkness was all encompassing, but she could feel that evening had come by the chill that licked at her skin. She was dizzy and injured and bound and if Allison came back before she could get away, Emily knew she didn't stand a chance. The binding around her hands and wrists was holding tight, digging into cuts that had already scraped their way into her skin, but her feet had become loose at some point. It was an effort, it took a long time and it _hurt_ to twist them in such unnatural ways, but eventually, she freed one ankle and, quickly afterwards, the other. Shoving herself to her feet, Emily cringed away from the pain in her shoulder where the knife wound was. Her head rushed with blood, blind spots apppearing like fireworks behind her eyelids. Emily gave herself a moment, leaning against the cold wall, and breathed deeply.

Then she looked one way, the way Allison had gone, and the other. It made logical sense to move away from where Allison had gone. It seemed lighter this way anyway, didn't it? Or was that wishful thinking?

Either way, her feet began to move. Her badge and gun were still gone, but Emily wasn't about to stick around and start looking for them. It was too dark, too wet, too cold. Her hands were already bloodied and sore from the rope and the fear that Allison would return at any moment was mounting.

Emily walked, sloshing through the water, trying and failing to be quiet, until her shoes and socks were soaked through and her toes were frozen in her shoes. But it seemed to be getting lighter, she was sure?

The moon beckoned, as Emily used her hands to feel around a corner, and the tunnel opened up in a wide mouth, yawning up at the nights sky. Emily began to climb, and found the ground growing steeper as she made her way up. Her hands slipped, rope tearing, and she hissed at the pain that was like a thousand little papercuts on the skin between each of her fingers but she made it. Crawling out of the mouth of the huge pipe, Emily let herself collapse onto the grass. She couldn't stop, she knew, but she a moment.

Just one moment of air.

* * *

**I'm so sorry I made you wait for this. I'm trying to get back into it, I promise not to abandon it! It will be finished. **

**Wash yer feckin hands in the meantime.**

**Steph x**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Her head was spinning. The grass beneath her, which had been so comfortingly cold only a few moments ago, was now freezing, hard and uncomfortable. Her arm throbbed, burned. _Infection_ crossed her mind, absently, but she couldn't grab the thought before it flitted out of her mind, replaced by the dizziness that came and went sporadically.

You should get up. A voice in her head was telling her. For half a second, Emily hought it was Hotch's voice. It _was_ Hotch's voice. Inside her head.

Emily. You should get up.

_I can't._

You have to.

_I'm going crazy._ She thought, weakly. But, brain-Hotch was right, if she didn't move soon, either Allison was going to come back for her, or she was going to pass out right here on the grass, and probably never wake up. And, if she did wake up, it would be to the pain of Allison carving that pentagram into her forehead. Then she heard them. The voices. And she could see the light, coming through the trees. More than one voice, so, not Allison.

"Here," She tried to shout, but the word caught in her throat. Coughing, she tried again, louder this time. "Over here."

Painfully, she shoved herself to her knees, trying to see further, and cringing away from the way her arm burned. Her head spun, aching, and she groaned.

Then, splitting pain through her skull, and Emily cried out as she was yanked to her feet, Allison's hand tangled tightly in her hair. He clamped a hand over her mouth, but too late. She heard a shout, and then the lights were growing brighter and the voices louder. Allison was trying to drag her away, but she fought it. With bound and bloody hands and every ounce of strength that she had left, she fought him. The hand that was clamped over her mouth shifted and Emily sank her teeth into it, not giving herself time to think, as hot blood flooded into her mouth. Allison howled in pain and threw her from him. Emily fell to the hard ground with a smack, spitting the taste of him onto the grass, choking on it.

But it was enough. The lights were bright enough that Emily had to close her eyes against them, and she could finally hear what the voices were saying.

"Allison!" Morgan! That was Morgan. "Put down the weapon and get down on the ground! Now!"

His voice was strong, but Emily could hear it shake. Morgan's voice never shook like that. Morgan always kept it together. Her ears were pounding, now, and her head felt like it was going to split open. Definitely a concussion; the lights definitely hadn't helped. She tried to move, tried to sit up, and heard a rustle of fabric and too many yells to make out one voice. Again, the shooting pain through her skull, right into the roots of her hair, and she was being pulled to her feet. Still unable to open her eyes against the torches, Emily tried to turn her head away and felt something cold pressed against her throat.

"Emily, don't move." That was JJ.

Pained as she was, confused as she was, Emily felt her heart soar to hear their voices. They'd get her out of this. Even as the cool metal of the knife pressed against her skin, and Emily felt the first prickles of pain as tiny red dots of blood erupted out of her skin, she still believed they would get her out of this.

"I've got to. She's the last one!" Allison was shouting, now, and Emily could feel the heat from his hand as the blood dripped onto her forehead. "She's the last one, and then I'll have my baby girl back!"

"Nothing is going to bring Tyla back, Mr Allison," That was Reid's voice, scared and anxious, but holding steady, "I'm sorry, but that's the truth of it. She's not coming back and...and she wouldn't want you to do this. Think about her. Think about your wife. Neither of them would want this for you."

The knife at her throat moved, shaking, as Allison began to yell back at them.

"You don't know!" He screamed, and Emily's head pounded in protest, "You don't know what it's like! To not be able to hold your child, or your wife. To have everything you love taken away from you! You don't know, you'll never know-"

"I know," _Hotch! _From somewhere over to her left. Emily jerked her head in his direction, felt the slide of the knife against her throat and gasped against it. There was a moment of silence, of tension, and then Hotch spoke again. Emily felt the slow trickly of blood that had begun at her throat. It was a shallow cut, but it stung, and Emily held herself in place, too terrified to move. _"_I know what it's like. To have the thing you love taken away. To lose somebody. I know what that's like. But that doesn't change anything," Hotch was saying, "That doesn't change what they would have wanted for you, Mr Allison. And its not this. Is it?"

The hand at her throat was jerking amost violently now, as Emily felt sobs wrack Allison's body where he stood. The hand in her hair moved, released, and the tension in her head was relieved, but the hand at her throat remained.

"YOU DON'T KNOW!" He was yelling now, and Emily grimaced at the pain it caused her. Her head was ringing, her ears buzzing. It was so bad that even as he stood beside her, yelling like that, she felt as though she could barely hear him over everyhing that was going on inside of her head. She must have cried out, though she didn't realise it, because suddenly he was pulling her back, flush against him, and pressing the knife in closer.

"Stop!" She heard multiple voices yell, along with the rustle of the grass as they advanced slowly.

"No, you stop!" Allison countered, and the rustling stopped, abruptly. The torches were lower now, and Emily chanced a glance, though her vision was still blurred by her headache. She could just about make the outlines of her team members out. Hotch, front and centre, was further forwards than the rest of them and even with her impaired vision she could see the tension in his muscles. JJ, with her blonde hair tied up high on her head, was aiming her gun at Allison, though Emily knew he was using her as a human shield. Reid and Morgan were doing the same, all of them trying to get an angle Emily knew wasn't possible to find. "You stop!" Allison repeated.

Emily could hear the shake in his voice and knew this wasn't going their way. She couldn't do anything to help them, with the knife pressed to her neck and her hands bound as they were and even as she squinted at the team, she felt the blood from her neck pooling at her chest. If she made it out of this alive, which didn't look likely right now, she would have another scar to add to the collection, and one not so easily hidden as the others. Craning her neck backwards, Emily tried to turn away from the knife, managing to turn her head just a little to the left. Allison held her in place, a hand returning to her hair, and she yelped.

"STOP!" She heard Hotch yell, "Stop hurting her, Allison or I swear-"

His professionalism was all gone now. Beside him, JJ could see his hands shake as he held out the gun. He couldn't shoot, wouldn't shoot, but JJ didn't want to see what would happen if Allison hurt Emily. She'd seen it before, what Hotch could do to a man who hurt someone he loved. She thought that, perhaps, Hotch's hands were shaking not only out of fear for Emily, but out of fear for what he might do.

The shot that cracked the night, however, did not come from Hotch's gun. It came from Rossi's. Rossi, who had managed to sneak away from the group before being spotted by Allison, and had crept in from the trees that stretched to the left. Emily had seen him, upon turning her head, seen him raise his gun. She knew what was coming.

The shot split her head open, or at least, that was how it felt. It didn't hit her, of course; it hit Allison, in the arm holding the knife to her throat. He dropped it and Emily kicked it away. Reid surged forwards to pick it up, but Allison still had a hand curled through her black hair and, even as his arm bled onto the grass, he wasn't letting her go.

"You-you don't understand," He was crying now, sobs wracking his body. Emily could tell, though, that they weren't tears of pain, at least not physical pain. They were tears of grief. "This was my last chance. My last chance to bring my girl back."

The hand in Emily's hair eased, her scalp screaming with relief as the pressure subsided, and Emily felt Allison collapse to his knees behind her. She took a step, stumbled, and found herself lying on her side in the grass. Bloodied, exhausted and concuss, she couldn't take another step.

He was at her side then, pulling a pocket knife out and hacking at the ropes that bound her hands. She closed and opened her fists a few times, looking at them in confusion. They didn't hurt anymore, though she could see the blood, both dried and fresh, that seeped from the broken skin between her fingers. She felt strong arms around her, one across her back, one beneath her knees, and wrapped her arms around Hotch's neck as he lifted her as easily as though she weighed nothing at all. She was covered in blood, she knew. It was on her chest and her neck, it was smeared across her face from where she had bitten Allison, and it was dripping down her forehead from where he'd clung so tightly to her hair with the hand she had wounded. In her concuss state, she worried, momentarily, about how she must look; like some extra from a horror film. But Hotch didn't see any of that when he looked at her.

"I've got you," He mumbled into her ear, so only she could hear him, "Emily, You're safe, I've got you." But even as he said it, she was losing consciousness.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-three**

Stitches. Lots of stitches. Stitches for her arm, stitches for her head, stitches for her throat. She was knocked out for all of it, thankfully. When she finally came around, though, and they told her, Emily thought she must look something like Frankenstein. When she said this, Reid corrected her immediately, as she had known he would, and she smiled.

"Actually, Frankenstein is the Dr. You look more like Frankenstein's monster-" Too late he realised what he had said, and only then because of the glares he was recieving from JJ and Morgan, who stood either side of him at the foot of her bed. "Sorry." He mumbled, meekly, but it made Emily laugh, and then wince.

"How are you feeling?" JJ moved to her side, one hand taking hold of Emily's and the other brushing damp hair back from her forehead. Emily tried to nod and felt the pull of the stitches at her throat, closed her eyes a moment to breathe, and then met the blonde's eyes.

"I'm okay." She said, though that was a bit of a stretch. "I'm alive."

JJ smiled a watery smile down at her, and nodded. Emily could tell she wanted to speak, but there was a lump in her throat that was stopping her. Emily squeezed her hand, though her own were bandaged and sore. The guilt in JJ's eyes was obvious, and unnecessary.

"Hey," She muttered, weakly, "I'm fine."

JJ gaped at her a moment, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water, trying to speak. She swallowed, heavily, glanced towards Morgan and Reid, who took the hint and took their leave as subtly as they could.

"We'll, uh, we'll go get some coffee."

"Bring me one?" Emily chanced. Morgan flashed her a toothy grin, the smile she loved so much, and shook his head.

"Sorry, princess. Dr's orders."

She pretended to pout, though part of her really would have loved cup of coffee right now. She was hooked up to an IV, she could see, which explained why she didn't feel dehydrated, but that didn't help with the dryness in her mouth.

JJ, still holding her hand, perched on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were brimming now, and Emily hated to see it. She wanted teasing, hungover JJ back. But this wasn't the time for teasing or for jokes.

"I shouldn't have left you," The blonde muttered, with a voice thick with tears, "I'm so sorry, Emily. If we'd stuck together this wouldn't have happened. This is just like Hankel all over again with Reid, I never should have-"

"Stop." Emily spoke in as assertive a voice as she could manage in her weakened state. "Jayje, you stop that right now. This is not your fault. None of it. Do you hear me?"

JJ wouldn't meet her eyes, trying to blink back the tears that threatened to spill over. Emily gripped the younger agent's hand tightly and, finally, JJ turned those brilliant blue eyes on her. Right now, full of tears, they shone like crystals.

Emily repeated herself, slowly, "Do you hear me?"

It was hesitant, but JJ nodded. She used her free hand to brush away the tear and wiped her nose on the back of it. Emily scrunched up her face.

"Ew, we're in a hospital, get a tissue," They shared a warm, gentle laugh and Emily ran a thumb over the back on JJ's hand. "I'm glad you're here."

She didn't ask, though she desperately wanted to, where he was. Wherever he was, it was obviously more important than being at her bedside, and that was fine. They put the job first. They always put the job first.

"He's finishing up with the local PD," JJ filled the silence with the answer to Emily's unspoken question, reading the room as well as she ever had, "And booking us all a couple more nights at the hotel while you recover."

Emily frowned and started to protest but JJ shut her down.

"It's done, Em," She said, "They've already called in another team for the next few days. Nobody's slept for 48 hours anyway, we're dead on our feet. Even Penelope got sent home from the office."

Emily frowned. They were always getting into trouble like this. Okay, not _exactly_ like this, but it had been known to happen. Then they got back to work and got on with it.

"What's different this time?" JJ tilted her head, looking at Emily as though she ought to already know the answer to her question. Emily's head, however, was still a little foggy and, seeing her frown, JJ took pity on her.

"I think," She started, slowly, choosing her words carefully, "I think he got scared. Hotch. I think, for the first time in a long time, he was more scared than he knew how to deal with."

"Oh." Emily didn't know what else to say. JJ's tone wasn't accusatory. It was understanding and, somehow, that was worse. It was her fault, Emily's. The whole team were taking a 'few days' and it was her fault. She sighed, and the stitches in her throat pulled, uncomfortably.

"I'm sure he'll come and visit as soon as he's finished," JJ said, misinterpreting the sigh. She smiled and Emily returned it, weakly.

The nurse came in then, and saved Emily from responding. She withdrew the IV from Emily's arm, plastered over it and then Morgan and Spence reentered the room carrying not two, but four cups of hot, steaming coffee.

"Dr's orders." The nurse said, with a kind smile, as Spencer handed one of the cups to Emily. She beamed at them. The coffee was too hot to drink yet, but even just holding it in her hands felt good when she remembered the cold. Looking down at her bandaged hands, she frowned.

"Allison? Was he-"

"In custody." Derek finished for her. She nodded. That was good.

"He needs help," She told them, "He's sick. He's really, really sad and he's really sick. And he needs help."

"We know, princess," Derek's tone was understanding, soft, and she appreciated it. "He's gonna get that help."

They filled her in on the parts of the story she had missed out on, as well as telling her all about Miss Lynd and the contribution that had finally led them to her. As they recounted the story, Emily felt as though they were telling her all about somebody else's life. How could this be _her_ life? How had she almost died a few hours ago, and now they were sitting around drinking coffee as though it hadn't happened?

Well, it had definitely happened. There was no denying that, and none of them were trying to, but Emily couldn't explain the feeling in her chest. It wasn't pain or discomfort. It was more like grief. She just didn't know what she was grieving for.

Hotch didn't come that night. Emily didn't ask to speak to him and even when JJ brought her phone back to her, she didn't text or call. There were no texts or calls from him, not that she had expected them. She didn't want to see him, she told herself. She was indifferent. The rest of them had all been by, with the exception of Rossi, who had flown back to Quantico because he had classes that needed to be taught, even if they weren't allowed to work a case for a couple of days. Emily hated falling asleep with that smell in her nose, the smell of sterility, and sleep didn't come for a long time.

The mattress was uncomfortable, but every time she shifted, she reminded herself how grateful she was that it was a mattress and not the cold, hard floor of a sewer, or the stone floor of an abandoned warehouse. She had laid down in much worse places than this slightly lumpy bed. Every noise was a comfort. Every time somebody walked past her room, nurses talking, the rolling of a cart. It was the silence she couldn't stand. Then there was only Emily and her breathing into the darkness.

Climbing out of the uncomfortable bed, she made her way to the door that a nurse had closed earlier. She'd looked in and seen Emily's form still in bed, assumed she was asleep and closed the door. Emily opened it, and light from the corridor flooded in. The hallway was deserted and Emily stood there a moment, in her pyjamas from the ready bag JJ had brought for her, and leaned against the doorway. God, she hated that smell.

"You're awake." His voice startled her. Stepping out of her room Emily turned to look down the corridor. He was there. Sitting in a chair, still in his suit.

"How long have you been there?" She asked him, frowning. "Visiting was over hours ago."

Sitting up straight and clearing his throat, Hotch gave a small shrug. "I may have flashed the badge. Told them you were under my protective custody."

"I don't need to be under your protective custody, Hotch," Emily told him, folding her arms, self conscious of the pattern of stitches dotted across her face and neck. "We caught the unsub."

He was nodding, his mouth stretched into a tight line. "Right."

Emily stood there a moment, on the deserted hospital corridor, and looked at him. His hair was rumpled and greasy, there were dark, purple circles beneath his eyes. His eyelids were red and puffy like...like he'd been crying. His suit, usually so pressed and perfect, was as dishevelled as his hair.

"You look worse than I do." She told him, softly.

That got a smile, and when he looked back at her, he raised his eyebrows. "Clearly you haven't looked in a mirror. How come you're awake?"

"Oh," she gave a small shrug, "Reid gave me coffee."

She was glad of the smile he gave her then, and her own lips spread into one as she looked at him. There was a moment, a flicker of something, and then it fell from her face. Emily reached up to push her hair back, pulling it back from her face as though she was going to tie it up, then pulled it slowly over one shoulder.

"Uh, so are you going to sit there all night?" She asked, "You know, I have a whole room to myself."

"Inviting me to spend the night with you?" He joked, standing up and grabbing his coat from the chair beside him, "Because it went so well for us both last time."

Emily led him back into the room and climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged in the middle of it. "Yeah, well, unlucky for you, this time I've only got room for one."

Hotch chuckled, sinking into the visitors chair that sat beside her bed. And then, again, the silence. They both spoke at once.

"Hotch, I-"

"Emily, you should-"

Silence. Again. Em looked down at her sheets, picked at a loose thread and waited for him to speak.

"I couldn't do my job today." He said, simply. She nodded. JJ had already filled her in. "I was...abrupt and overbearing and-"

She was smirking and he paused, raising an eyebrow. "You're always abrupt and overbearing."

When he spoke again, his tone was softer, he really needed her to hear him.

"I was unprofessional."

The disappointment in his voice was so evident that Emily couldn't maintain eye contact. She dropped her eyes, lashes sending shadows down her bruised cheeks.

"I don't know what you want me to say-"

"Dammit, Emily," His hand smacked at the arm of the chair and Emily flinched at the sudden outburst. "Dammit, I don't want you to say anything, I just-I don't know where we go from here. I can't...you make me...I can't have you hurt again."

She was nodding again.

"So this," Looking up, she made a vague gesture between the two of them, "This is over. It has to be, right?"

Hotch brought a hand up to rest it over the lower part of his face, huffed out a breath and closed his eyes. Sitting in the chair, with the exhaustion of the past few days evident on his face, Emily though for the first time ever that he looked _old_. Not Rossi old, suave and sophisticated and silver fox-y. Old like, _ancient_ old. Mentally old. Seen too much bad stuff, old. She'd seen that look before.

Gideon had that look, in Flagstaff, Arizona. Right before he left them all. Suddenly, for just a moment, a moment that changed everything, Emily felt like she was looking into a mirror.

* * *

**this is the happiest I've been with a chapter since getting back into the swing - a sign of more chapters to hopefully follow soon!**

**Thanks to everyone who's sticking with me and A Fine Line**

**Wash yer feckin hands**

**Steph x**


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Emily hadn't had many jobs throughout her life. Moving as much as they did when she was a kid wasn't particularly conducive to building a well-rounded resume in her teen years. She also hadn't _had_ to work. Hell, she wouldn't have to work now, but she chose to. Living on her mom's money had never been an option: even as a teenager, she'd only spent it to spite Elizabeth most of the time. Eventually, when she turned eighteen, she'd gone straight to Yale, visiting her mother only on the holidays and, once Yale was done, immediately into the Academy. So, Emily hadn't had many jobs throughout her life, but this one really had gotten under her skin.

Even before she started packing up her desk, Emily had known it was going to be a difficult job. As she packed photographs and memories into her little box, she felt as though she were packing up her entire life. The apartment had been packed for days, and hadn't taken up as much emotional energy as this was. Tickets from a comedy show she and Morgan had treated themselves to last minute, one weekend they miraculously had free. Trinkets Penelope had gifted to her after difficult cases, like the small red heart stress ball. She squeezed it, letting it expand in her hand, then put it to her nose. The strawberry scent was still there. Faint, but still there. There were so many coloured post-its that she couldn't count them. Notes she and JJ had passed back and forth, either during briefings, meetings or on the jet. JJ, she knew, also had a stash of them in her own desk. Emily glanced at a few, smiling down at her friends handwriting, before deciding she couldn't bring herself to throw any of them away, and then they all went into the box, too. The black box she pulled out of her desk and unfolded was the magnetic chessboard Spencer had bought for them when he grew sick of their pieces falling over during turbulence on the jet. Emily withdrew the king, walking to Spencer's desk and hiding it at the back of his top drawer. He would find it, one day, and smile, she hoped. Either that, or he would phone her and point out the illogical nature of the action; without a full chess set, she made the entire board redundant. And she would tell him that she couldn't bring herself to play chess with anyone else, anyway.

A small, square card. Embossed with a golden birthday cake and the words 'happy birthday'. Opening it, Emily traced the handwriting with her finger, feeling the deep indentation of the pen. She'd know his writing anywhere, after all these years, even if it wasn't signed.

_Emily,_

_Happy Birthday._

_Love, Hotch._

Her brown eyes lingered a moment on the words before that, too, joined the other items in her box.

"You're really leaving?" Prepared as she had been for it, the hurt in Reid's voice sliced right through her heart and Emily closed her eyes, glad of a moment to compose herself, before turning to face him. The small photo frame now in her hands, a gift from Dave for the same birthday she'd received the card from Hotch, which she was certain was an antique, and which contained one of their rare team photographs, hurt as she clung to it tightly. "You're leaving us? Again?"

"Spence-" Emily didn't really have the words to comfort him, or any excuses to offer him. There weren't any. This was a decision she had made knowing the hurt it would cause, and knowing there was no other option for her. "I got an offer I couldn't refuse." She shrugged, helplessly.

It wasn't a lie, not really. She had received a call from Clyde Easter a few weeks ago. He was stepping away from running the London Interpol office and had recommended her for the job. When he'd first called through, Emily had rolled her eyes and laughed him off with a sarcastic comment. She was happy and home. This, the BAU, was where she was supposed to be. That was what she had told him. This was family. But, even then, there had been a part of her that nudged, squirmed, didn't quite fit. So much had changed. Everything was different now. Everything. And not just because of Doyle.

In Reid's eyes, Emily could read all of the confusion and pain that told her that her excuses weren't enough. Emily's heart tightened and she opened her mouth to speak, taking a step towards him just as the doors behind him swung open and the rest of the team filed in. Morgan's face was dark. Behind him, JJ couldn't bring herself to meet Emily's eyes. Penelope, she could see, had been crying; her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wet with as yet unshed tears. Rossi looked resigned, and heaved a great sigh when she caught his eye, like he had known this was coming for a while. He had a habit of being able to read those things about people, so Emily suspected the older agent had probably sensed her discomfort even before she had. _Damn profilers_. Hotch's eyes, as usual, were unreadable.

"You told them," Emily nodded, grateful and resentful at the same time. He nodded, sharply.

"I thought it would be easier..." Hotch trailed off, uncharacteristically and, Emily thought, potentially for the first time in his life, lost for words.

He was right, and she hated him a little bit for it. This was easier than having to break the news to them herself, spineless as that might be. Now, they knew. Now, it was out in the open.

"There's nothing we can say?" JJ tried, bu it was a weak attempt, feeble. JJ knew the answer before the question left her lips. Her blue eyes tracked over Emily's empty desk, glancing over the items in the box. When she looked away, sharply, Emily knew she had caught sight of their post-it correspondence. JJ tried a smile, but the sadness in her eyes was obvious, and her bottom lip shook ever so slightly. Emily tried for words, failed, had to swallow heavily as her throat tightened with emotion.

"I love you," She finally managed. She thought she saw Hotch's eyes flit towards her a moment, but she couldn't bring herself to meet them. "All of you. So much. We're a family. But I can't just...I can't fall back into my old life and pretend nothing happened. I've been trying, really. I've been looking for houses...I thought putting down roots would...but I can't. I feel like a puzzle piece that doesn't fit into the puzzle anymore. And I don't wanna ruin any of this by trying to force myself to fit. I don't want to ruin this by trying to force more out of it."

The speech was for them all, and it was the truth, but she and Hotch both knew that the last part - that was for him. The office was quiet. Reid impatiently wiped at his eyes, strode past her to his own desk and sat on his chair. The rest of them watched as he spun around in his chair, recognising that he had checked out of the conversation in an attempt to protect himself. Emily hated that more than anything. She was just another person leaving him behind.

"When do you leave?" Penelope asked, from beside Hotch. Her voice shook with the effort it took to ask the question. Emily inhaled, deeply, before she answered.

"Tomorrow night."

The answer fell heavily onto their ears. JJ closed her eyes a moment in disbelief. Derek, who still hadn't said a word, scoffed lightly. It had been cowardly, booking a flight so soon, not giving them any time to process, but, for her own sanity, Emily needed to get away.

"How about one more family dinner before you leave?" Rossi stepped forwards and putting his hands on her shoulders, smiling that fatherly smile at her. His eyes crinkled at the corner and made her feel safe and warm. "I'll make your favourite, my Emilia. Carabonara à la Rossi."

More grateful for him than she had ever been, Emily reached up to take his hands in hers and smiled back at him. "That sounds great." She breathed.

"I'm up for that," JJ nodded, putting her hands into her pockets and swinging back and forth on her heels. "Will'll have the boys."

"Definitely," Penelope piped up, elbowing Morgan in the ribs when he didn't immediately reply. He scowled down at her, then his gaze returned to Emily, head resting on Rossi's shoulder, and his brow softened. Sighing, he, too, nodded.

"Sure, princess."

"Reid?" Rossi prompted the younger agent, still swinging around in his chair. Reid made a nondescript hand gesture, but Morgan muttered that he would make sure Reid found his way here.

"That sounds great, Dave," Hotch agreed, passing them and heading straight up for his office, indicating that their impromptu meeting had come to an end. As the others dispersed, Emily caught Rossi's gaze.

"Thank you," She muttered, so that only he could hear. His smile grew wider and his hands moved from her shoulders to her cheeks, cupping her face in his hands.

"Qualsiasi cosa per te."

_Anything for you_.

* * *

Dinner was, as always, a cosy, comfortable affair. At first, there was a heaviness to the air, as the reality of why they were there rested heavily upon their consciences. But, as the wine flowed and Rossi presented the with course after course of deliciousness, they settled into their usual routine of anecdotes and laughter. In the week since what Emily had begun referring to as 'the incident', her wounds had cleaned up a little bit, most of the bruising had faded to a pale yellow and her stitches were slowly dissolving. The slice across her arm was basically healed, aside from a small red scab. Whenever she caught herself in the mirror, though, her eyes were still drawn to the angry pink track across her throat. The doctors had assured her it would fade, that it wasn't deep enough to scar, but that it would take time. She could use oils to help it, they had told her. As a field agent, Emily didn't mind it. It was almost cool, a battle scar, if that sort of thinking wasn't so dismissive of the ptsd that followed an incident like the one she had endured. Her new job, however, was a lot of desk work, a lot of signing other people's field work off, a lot of interacting with very important people. It was, she thought, a good job that England was renowned for terrible weather; she would definitely be sporting turtle necks for a couple of months.

The wine was devoured swiftly, as was the food Rossi presented them all with. True to his word, he had made her favourite and Emily ate it down, thinking how much she was going to miss it. Not just Rossi's excellent cooking, but the group of them all being together. The hardest part of it was knowing these gatherings would take place, she just wouldn't be in attendance. Much as she knew that was her own fault, it didn't make the reality any more pleasant.

"We'll Skype you in!" Penelope suggested, when Emily voiced this to her and JJ. It fell out of her mouth so quickly that Emily thought she must have thought about it before she ever brought it up. They were sitting at the edge of Rossi's pool, feet dangling in the cool water, heels discarded nearby. Over on the decking, there was raucous laughter and the sound of Spencer trying to have his voice heard over it, but Emily couldn't make out exactly what was being said. Smiling at her blonde, bespectacled friend, she nodded.

"That sounds great. I'll just have to make do with Italian take out, instead of Rossi's incredible menu."

"Isn't it about time you learned to cook?" JJ told her, with a chuckle as she put her beer bottle to her lips.

"Says the girl who burns soup." Penelope jumped in, making Emily laugh and JJ splutter on her beverage.

"I've survived this long on take-out, room service and restaurants," Emily pointed out, "I think I'll be able to handle London. I know British food is, stereotypically, terrible, but they have take-out, just like we do. And their chocolate is the best." England had been one of Elizabeth's longer posts when Emily was a child, second only to Italy. As a result, London wasn't completely unfamiliar to her, which was making the move a little easier. It had never been difficult for Emily to up and move: it was all she knew, really. Throughout her childhood, she'd grown used to night flights and temporary accommodations and waking up of a morning to find furniture that didn't belong to them once again covered in plastic, staff packing up their belongings and her mother rushing her to get ready for a flight Emily didn't know they had to make. But this time, it was different. There was no post, no Elizabeth, no choices beyond her control. She had done this. This time, she was choosing to leave, choosing to leave behind the only real family she'd ever had. She was running away. JJ and Penelope were still talking about chocolate as all of this raced through her mind, but another round of laughter from the guys drew Emily's eyes and they landed on Hotch.

He had one hand thrust into the pocket of his dark jeans, the other wrapped around a bottle of beer, and seemed to be highly amused by something Morgan had said. Emily's breath caught in her throat for a moment, as she gazed at him over her shoulder, at the sight of that smile. Then, his eyes landed on hers and she couldn't help the magnetic smile that spread across her face in response. As she did, though, his lips fell back into a straight line and he averted his gaze. The swelling of her heart in her chest stopped, replaced by a cold feeling of rejection, and she turned back to JJ and Penelope to find them both looking at her, curiously.

"What was that about?" JJ asked, concerned and loose lipped thanks to the copious amount of wine she had consumed at dinner.

"Yes, what _was_ that about, Emily?" Penelope pushed, incredulously. "Why do I feel like I'm out of the loop? Like, here there's a loop," Penelope drew a circle in the air, "And I'm not in it. I'm over here somewhere," She was waving a hand behind her head now, "And you two are in the loop together and I'm not and I would very much like to be in the loop, please. Like, now."

"Okay, I know we're outdoors, but, please, indoor voices, Penelope," Emily gestured with her hand to lower the volume while JJ unceremoniously clamped a hand over Penelope's mouth. "I will tell you, but you have to promise me you won't freak out. At least, not right here and now, okay?"

And then, it was all spilling out of her mouth, as though she had been holding it back forever, which it felt like she has. There was a coiled spring of tension in her stomach that had _everything_ to do with her Unit Chief..._former_ unit chief, and with every word, the spring loosened a little. Once she started talking, she found she couldn't stop it. She told them everything. His office, the plane, the elevator. Everything. Everything except all of the wonderful things Hotch had said to her that night in her hotel room. Everything else was physical but that. His words, those emotions. It would feel like betraying him to tell them that. Those words were just for her, for them. She could tell JJ and Penelope about every time he had touched her body, but when she opened her mouth to explain their conversation the night he'd showed up at her hotel room door, the words stuck like toffee in her throat. That felt like betrayal, somehow. He had said so little, but it had meant so much. JJ and Penelope didn't need to hear any of that.

"So, what now?" JJ asked, when she was finished. Throughout the story, both she and Penelope had leaned in, and Emily didn't think either of them had noticed. JJ, who had known bits and pieces already, looked shocked, having not realised the extent of all that had happened between her best friend and boss. Penelope looked absolutely catatonic. She stared at Emily, wide-eyed with amazement.

"I mean, I always knew you guys had chemistry," She said, finally, impressed, "But jeez, Em."

Emily scoffed aloud and put her beer bottle to her lips. Taking a long swig, her eyes wandered, once again, to the deck. This time, she found Hotch's eyes already on her and he held her gaze as she swallowed her beer, which was suddenly tasteless on her tongue.

"Chemistry," She repeated, before ripping her eyes away fro his, "Right."

"You didn't answer my question," JJ pointed out, having wrapped her head round all that Emily had told them.

"I know."

Penelope loudly and suddenly announced that she had to pee. They watched, amused, as she ran back towards the house, both smiling to themselves. Sometimes it was glorious just to witness Penelope being Penelope. Emily turned back to the bottle in her hands, kicking her feet slowly in the cool water of the pool, and began peeling at the label of the bottle; the smile was still on her face, but the sadness had returned.

"I'm really gonna miss you."

Emily couldn't bring her eyes up from the bottle when JJ spoke. Her voice was thick, like it had been in the hospital, like she had something caught in her throat. Suddenly, breathing was difficult.

"Don't do that," Emily spoke down to her lap, "You have to wish me well, or I'm not going to be able to go. You're my person, Jayje, you have to tell me it's okay to go. And we'll get to play Scrabble online, again."

"I wanna play real scrabble." Now, Emily could hear the tears. She looked up and met blue eyes, brimming over. Shuffling around the corner of the pool, Emily wrapped an arm around the blonde's shoulders and JJ's head cae down to rest on Emily's. JJ sniffed, then breathed deeply, thinking about how much she would miss the smell of Emily's perfume that she had grown so accustomed to over the years. She'd missed it so much in the seven months Emily was in WITSEC, and now she would have to miss it again.

Emily closed her eyes as her own tears threatened, turning her head and kissing JJ's blonde crown, a stray tear managing to leak out of the corner of her eyes.

"I'm really going to miss you, Cheeto-breath."

* * *

**Sorry to the person who reviewed and said they could see an end to the angst..**

**thank you all for the continued support with this fic! I'm going to start trying to post once a week, as I think that's a schedule I can stay on top of without putting pressure on myself!**

**Wash yer feckin' hands**

**(and leave a review)**

**Steph x**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

She had known saying goodbye was going to be hard, one of the hardest things she'd ever had to face, but she hadn't expected to find herself sobbing in Rossi's bathroom. The reality of leaving them all had hit her when she had hugged JJ and realised she didn't know how long it would be until she could do that again in person. It was probably the wine (Emily was usually much better at keeping her emotions in check) but it had all come pouring out as soon as she'd excused herself to the bathroom. Now, her face was blotchy and her mascara ruined. She managed to clean up most of the damage and reapply her make-up with the reserves she'd put into her bag, but with a group of profilers downstairs, there was no avoiding the reality that she had been crying. Straightening her black dress down, Emily opened the bathroom door.

"How long have you been sitting there?" She asked, when she stepped out of the bathroom to find Morgan sitting at the top of the stairs, waiting for her. He was apparently deeply engrossed in reading whatever information the label of his beer offered because he didn't look away from it when she spoke. Like her, he was peeling the label away, littering Rossi's carpet with it.

"He won't think you for that," Emily grabbed her beer from the side table where she had set it down, swiping at the ring mark it left behind and, pulling a face, hoped Rossi wouldn't notice. She wandered over to where Morgan sat, the carpet warm and soft beneath her bare feet (her heels were still out by the pool somewhere). Sitting down beside him, her shoulder pressed against his, Emily nudged him.

"Hey, talk to me."

He was silent a moment, before he heaved a sigh and turned to look at her. In his huge, brown eyes, Emily saw sadness and she hated herself for it.

"I'm so proud of you, you know," He'd said that before. She'd heard it somewhere before, but she couldn't place it. "I'm proud. You're going off to this big shot job, you're gonna be calling the shots, hell you're gonna have a higher position than Hotch. You're gonna be making waves, Princess, I know it. I just wish we didn't have to lose you for you to do it."

It was Emily's job to rest her head on someone's shoulder and she laced her arm through his, feeling the familiar contour of his muscles beneath his shirt. His hand came up to tangle in her hair, holding her there, and Emily closed her eyes, content to stay a while in this moment, soaking him up and breathing him in.

"I love you, Derek." She told him, softly. He chuckled, low in his chest. She felt the rumble and could see the melancholy smile on his face in her mindseye.

"Yeah, I love you too."

"You're going to come visit me, right?" Emily asked, sitting up and looking at him.

"Princess, you better believe Penelope's already looked up the flights.

Emily grinned. That definitely sounded like their Garcia. "Good."

"I just gotta know, why now?" His voice was soft, but insistent, and Emily could hear the hurt in it. "What's been going on with you? Something's different, something's been up with you. Like, last week? You can't fool me; Emily Prentiss does not box at 6am."

She smiled now, just a little, at that comment, and at how well he knew her. Thinking about her answer a moment, she inhaled deeply before answering.

"Honestly? I've been thinking about it since I got back." The hurt didn't fade from his eyes. If anything, it only grew stronger, but Emily wasn't going to start lying to him again now. "I've told you. It's not anything any of you did. It's just circumstances. Life moves forward and sometime...good things come to an end."

"You know this will always be home, right? Always." His arms were around her in an instant and Emily held on tight. Somewhere along the way, Derek Morgan had become her best friend. JJ was her person, but Derek had saved her life on too many occasions to help and that...it was a bond not even distance would ever break and Emily clung to that as tightly as she clung to him.

* * *

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself, Bella. You'll keep up to date with your firearms training and you'll eat well, eat a vegetable and drink some water every now and then. These Brits,you know, they're well known for their fondness of alcohol." Rossi's hands were on her cheeks again and Emily couldn't help but notice the irony of his words as she smelled the alcohol on his breath. She didn't mind it, though, it was oddly comforting, and she expected she smelled just the same. The evening was dwindling and, as he usually did, Rossi had changed the music to something slower and calmer. It had gone from jovial and bouncy to something much more sombre and Emily could hear Vera Lynne's voice crooning out from the record player as they stood on the dec.

"I promise," Emily nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. Rossi held her tightly and Emily felt her eyes prickle, again. Rossi began to sway and one of his hands moved from her back to grasp her hand. He stretched their arms out and, with a palm on the small of her back, began to lead her in a dance. It was uncomplicated; they barely swayed on the spot. Rossi's beard was a little scratchy on her cheek, but Emily didn't mind. It was nice, to be held like this, and feel so loved and safe. Rossi was, in many ways, the father she had been deprived of for so long. Her heart ached when she imagined having to leave him behind.

"We'll meet again," He crooned, softly in her ear, in time with Vera Lynn, "Don't know where, don't know when..."

Pressing her face into his shoulder as they danced, Emily hoped her mascara tears didn't mess up his shirt.

"We'll meet again, some sunny day."

* * *

Emily had to go looking for Spencer. After a very tearful hug with Penelope, she announced that she and Morgan were getting a cab and Morgan said he'd promise Reid he would get him home.

"I haven't seen him for a while," JJ frowned around at them all.

"I'll find him, give me five minutes," Emily said, standing up from where she sat beside the blonde on the sofa.

"The cab's already been called," Hotch replied, shortly. Emily started, gancing at him.

"Alright, then at least let me go get him."

She found him by the pool, along with her discarded shoes.

"Hey, everyones been wondering where you got to. We've all been in the lounge."

He glanced at her when she spoke, and then went right back to staring at the water. His hands were tucked deep into his pockets, his shoulders slumped and Emily thought, for the first time in a long time, about how young he looked.

"You said you wouldn't leave again."

It was almost too quiet for her to hear him speak and, frowning, she moved closer to the younger agent until she stood beside him at the pool's edge.

"What?"

"Last week. The cast in Utah, in the bar. You said you wouldn't leave again."

Emily sighed, deeply. Could that case really have only been a week ago?

"And in the interceding week, I was kidnapped, got a concussion, became Frankenstein's monster, had to get twenty-three stitches and almost died, Reid." She was trying to be lighthearted, but there was no wrankling any humour out of Spencer right now. Sighing again, Emily tried a different tactic. "You have an eidetic memory Reid, but I remember what I said. We both know I never said I wouldn't leave. I told you if I ever went away again, it wouldn't be because of some secret plan. I said I'd never leave you for good, and that's not a promise I intend to break. This isn't like last time, you know?"

Spencer didn't reply. Running a hand over her face, Emily put them to her waist and cocked her hip.

"Spencer Reid," She said sternly, and, like a reprimanded child, he looked at her. "I told you last time that this gave me an ulcer. If I get another one right before I start my new job, I'm blaming you."

That made the corner of his lips quirk.

"Ah - that's a smile! I got you, I'm off the hook!" She pointed at him, grinning. It was reluctant, but his quirked lips slowly spread into a smile. His eyes, though, were still sad.

"You can come visit me in London," She told him, walking towards him and linking her arm through his, steering him back towards the house. In her other hands, her heels dangled at her side. "We can play chess online. Garcia has fancy plans to Skype me into family dinners. It's going to be weird for a while, but you're more adaptable than you think, Spence. You'll get used to it. And I'm not leaving you, not really." She stopped them, turning to face him. Her face was serious now, urging him to understand. "You know that, right? I'm always just at the end of the phone."

Suddenly, he pulled her into a hug. She knew she was his Rossi right now; tall as he was, Spencer's head was buried in the crook of her neck and Emily wrapped her arms tightly around his back.

"And, as for the time difference," She mumbled into his shoulder, "Hell, this job ruined my sleep schedule anyway and you guys will be up all hours of the night. So, don't hesitate if you need me, okay?"

She felt him nod into her shoulder, but needed him to understand how much she meant this, so she pushed him away, holding onto his arms and forcing him to look at her. Emily was an old child; she didn't have any brothers and sisters, at least not by blood, but she thought this was what it must feel like to have a baby brother she needed to take care of. Spencer had turned her into a big sister, and she would always love him for that. "I mean it, Spence," She reinforced, "Anything. I don't want to have to hear things through Morgan, JJ or Penelope, do you hear? Or I'll have to kick your ass."

He nodded again, smiling, his face red, his eyes blinking rapidly. Linking her arm through his once more, Emily led him back through into the house to where everyone else was waiting in the foyer.

Derek pulled her into a bear hug, lifting her off the ground for a moment, before pulling away and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I wanna know as soon as you land, okay?" She could only nod, worried that her emotions would get the best of her.

"Me, too," Penelope embraced her. She was already crying, unashamedly, and that made tears spring to Emily's eyes. "I love you, Emily Prentiss. I love you and I'm going to miss you like crazy. Sergio is going to miss you like crazy."

Emily hadn't even thought about the cat, but that brought a fresh wave of emotion to her.

"Bye, Emily." Spencer said, simply, and he hugged her tightly, once more. When he let her go, he disappeard out of the door without looking back at her, and Emily's heart ached in her chest. As she watched them drive away, Penelope waving frantically out of the window, another car pulled up and JJ appeared in the doorway behind her.

"That's my ride," She said, opening her arms. Emily went into them, willingly, and let JJ hold her a moment, smelling the familiar vanilla of her friends shampoo. When JJ finally let her go, there were tear tracks down both of their faces. "Have a safe flight. Call me, okay? I love you."

"I love you, too, Jayje." Emily replied. JJ still had hold of her hand when she stepped away and Emily felt the loss as JJ's fingertips slipped away from her own. Wrapping her arms around herself, she watched the blonde run to the car, as unable to look back as Spencer had been. JJ couldn't wave, like Penelope had, but she pressed a hand against the car window. Emily waved, though. She waved until she couldn't see the car anymore.

* * *

**Surprise! I know I said I would update next week but you know I can't help myself. Sorry it's a short one but enjoy.**

**Stay safe and wash yer feckin hands**

**Steph x**


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

* * *

_A guy and a girl can be just friends, but at one point or another, they will fall for each other... maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever. -Dave Matthews_

* * *

For a long moment after the lights of JJ and Will's car had turned around the corner, Emily stood there and stared at the place where it had disappeared. That was it. The last time she would see her team for who knew how long. It had been a balmy, warm evening but as she stood there on her own, a breeze disturbed the skirt of her black dress and the chill crept into her chest. Wrapping her arms around herself for warmth, Emily started when she felt gentle hands lay her own black, military style coat across her shoulders.

"You look cold," Hotch's voice rumbled in her ear. "I ordered a cab, I thought we might as well share, seeing as how we're heading in the same direction."

Turning her head to look at him over her shoulder, Hotch's eyes were infinite pools of darkness. Emily's eyes flickered down and settled for a moment on his lips. She remembered the feel of them, as he kissed her, soft but insistent. He had tasted like coffee. She knew he wouldn't taste like coffee right now. Suddenly, her own mouth felt very dry.

"Emily?" His voice pulled her out of her reverie and Emily realised she had turned to face him. Her long black coat hung from her shoulders like a cloak, much longer than her dress and therefore much more protective against the cold. She couldn't feel the cold anymore, but Emily didn't think that had anything at all to do with the extra layer. Hotch hadn't stepped back, she realised, when she had turned to face him. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face, and as she looked at him, she noticed one shocking white eyelash against the black, and smiled.

"Yeah, sure," She agreed, sliding her arms into the sleeves of her coat and pulling her hair out of the collar where it was tucked in. Her hands slipped into her pockets out of habit and she stepped to the side of him. "Let me just go and say goodbye to Dave."

Inside, Emily paused and breathed deeply. The familiar smell of the Rossi mansion, as they had dubbed it, with it's solid oak wooden floors and banisters, accented by the warming scent of Rossi's cooking that always permeated the air, felt like home. Together, the team had spent so many evenings here. If there was an epicentre, a homing base, for the BAU, it was here. This was where they congregated to celebrate, to mourn, to recouperate. No matter what, this was where they always made their way back to. Emily's heels clicked against the wooden floor as she made her way through the foyer and into the kitchen. Rossi was loading the dishwasher. Leaning on her forearms against the counter, Emily watched him a moment before she spoke.

"I wish you'd let me help," She had offered, but he had waved it away, like he always did. Turning to smile at her, he finished loading the last few plates before straightening up. The dishwasher hummed to life behind him.

"Never, bambina," He said, wiping his hands down on a kitchen towel, "And especially not on a night when you're the guest of honour."

Leaning her palms against the counter, Emily pushed herself to stand straight and cast a glance around the room. She could see them, in her minds eye, the many times the team had gathered around this counter, or that dining table.

"There will be more happy times," Rossi could read each and every one of them like a book. She rolled her eyes in his direction and he chuckled, low in his chest. "I know, I know. But you're too easy to profile."

"It's just..."

Rossi's brow furrowed as she trailed off. "Just, what, tesoro?"

_Treasure_.

Emily's eyes glassed over at the term of endearment, filling with tears she had thought were spent for the evening. Rossi always reminded her of time spent in Italy and, sometimes, when she was around him, Emily felt like that lost little girl all over again. She shook her head, trying to hold back the tears, and bit her lip.

"Am I making a mistake?" She wanted to tell him everything. Not the everything she had told JJ and Penelope but...the other stuff. She wanted to tell him how her heart beat harder in her chest every time Aaron looked at her. She wanted to tell him all of the lovely things he'd said to her that night, and how she felt like she'd seen a vulnerable side to Hotch that nobody else got to see. She wanted him to tell her '_stay.' _Somebody had to tell her to stay.

"I think there's only one person who can answer that question, Emily. There's only one person who knows what's best." Looking at her, he heaved a sigh that shook his shoulders. "But I don't believe you'd be going if you didn't think it was necessary."

"I'm just really going to miss you."

He crossed the room quickly and held her close, mumbling softly to her in Italian.

"Non piangere, piccolo." _Don't cry, little one_. That only made the tears fall harder. Clinging to him felt like she could cling onto this part of her life, for just a moment longer. But then he let her go, and the moment was gone, and Emily knew she had to turn around and walk away, or she never would. "Come and visit us soon, yes?"

Nodding, Emily brushed at the few remaining tears lingering on her eyelashes. Rossi pressed a kiss to her forehead, turned her manually around and gave her a gentle shove towards the door. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Already at the door by the time his words had sunken in, Emily stopped herself, holding onto the door frame, and turned to look at him, eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rossi, however, was already turning away, though Emily thought she could see the ghost of a smile in the way his cheeks moved.

* * *

Outside, Emily found Hotch waiting at the bottom of the steps. The taxi, it's engine running smoothly, was waiting at the end of the drive way and, wordlessly, Emily closed Rossi's front door behind her and followed Hotch to the car.

Catching sight of her tearful face, he frowned. "You alright?"

She nodded, and wiped at her cheeks. Ever the gentleman, Hotch pulled the door of the backseat open for her but Emily paused a moment, turning to glance back at the house, taking it all in one last time, before she moved to climb into the cab. As she did, she and Hotch exchanged a look and Emily saw a fraction of her own sadness mirrored in the small smile he gave her before he closed the door behind her. A moment later, he was sitting in the seat beside her and giving her address to the driver.

"Did you, uh, did you have a nice evening?" The question was almost awkward. Hotch was the only one she hadn't really spoken to that evening. At dinner, they'd been sat diagonally across from one another, opposite JJ and Derek, respectively, and had both taken part in the general chit chat that they all engaged with. But she hadn't sought him out. She had sought out every other member of the team, and he had to have noticed that. Glancing at him, Emily saw that he wasn't looking at her, but straight ahead, at whatever view he could see past the drivers headrest.

"I was going to come and talk to you-" She started, unsure of whether she was telling the truth or not, but Hotch cut her off, turning his head away from the road to look at her. He was still smiling, and it looked fixed and fake.

"We don't have to do this, Prentiss." The return to addressing her by her surname did not go unnoticed and it wounded her. She was silent a moment, debating over how to respond to that statement.

"Yes, we do," She said, finally.

"No, we-"

"Yes, we _do_, Hotch." She was raising her voice now, whether as a product of her mildly drunken state or the annoyance she was starting to feel towards him. She didn't notice the way the drivers eyes flickered to his rear view mirror, but Hotch did.

"You don't need to shout at me." Hotch held the bridge of his nose. She _hated_ when he did that. There was something so condescending about that. Scowling at him, Emily shook her head.

"You're not my boss, anymore, Hotch, remember? I quit. So I can shout at you all I please." With a gesture of disbelief, Hotch turned back to the window. Clearly, when he said they didn't need to talk about it, he meant that he didn't want to talk about it. That stung, but Emily wasn't about to tell him that. Instead, she lowered her tone and rolled her eyes. The car was pulling to a stop and Emily didn't want to spend a moment longer in his presence. "You know what, fine. If you want to be a child about this, be one. If this is how you want to leave things between us then I- Goodbye, Hotch, it's been really nice knowing you."

Knowing he couldn't leave it like this, torn between wanting to let her walk out of his life and wanting to beg her to stay, Hotch pressed his palms into his eyes, frustrated by them both.

"Prentiss-" He tried to halt her, but she was up and out of the car before her name was completely off his lips. Growling to himself, Hotch flung open the door on his side of the car and climbed out. "Emily!" He raised his voice this time. It carried across the street, several passers by glancing around to see where it had come from. Hotch glanced, too, acknowledging them. Emily had paused on the stairs to her apartment building and, sighing, Hotch reached into the pocket of his coat, pulled out his wallet and handed two $20 notes to the driver. "Keep the change." He mumbled, knowing he had massively overpaid, before making his way around the car in a jog towards where Emily stood.

Her arms were folded across her chest, her face the picture of thunder. Pursed lips threatened him with silence, and, exasperated, Hotch gestured to the street and to the passers by who were dawdling; trying, and failing, to look as though they weren't listening into their conversation. "Do you want to do this out here?"

For a moment, he thought she might say she did, just to spite him, and Emily would be lying to say it didn't cross her mind. She had every right, too, to leave him standing there on her steps. All she needed was for it to rain on him, and then she'd be satisfied. Angry as she was with him, though, they _did_ need to talk. With a petulant huff, she turned on her heels and finished her ascent up the stairs and, though she didn't hold any doors open for him on the way, she didn't object when he followed her inside, into the elevator and into her apartment.

It wasn't much different to the last time he had been here. Emily Prentiss always seemed to be moving in or out of somewhere. The boxes piled high against the wall could be waiting to be unpacked. Knowing that, instead, they were waiting to be shipped off to London, Hotch frowned at them, as though they had offended him. Emily threw her purse down onto the counter, where it skidded across the empty, gleaming top, stopping just short of the hob that Hotch doubted had ever been used. He watched as she kicked off her shoes, leaving them lying haphazardly against the wall. The long, black military jacket was the next thing to go. She threw it across the back of the couch before turning to face him, one hand leaning against the coat, the other perched on her hip.

"Well?" She asked. "Go on, then. Talk."

"You're the one who-"

"No, Hotch, stop." Holding up her hands, Emily decided she'd had enough. Walking past him, she headed for the fridge. Watching as she pulled out a bottle of white wine, Hotch let her speak, uninterrupted, as she poured "I said I wanted to talk, you cut me off. I say fine, we don't have to talk, you rush out of the taxi and follow me up to my apartment." Slamming the bottle of wine down onto the counter just a little too hard, Emily picked up her glass and put it to her lips. "So, you clearly have something to say. Go ahead, say it."

Her tone, her attitude, the way she was staring at him with angry, accusing eyes, it all made his blood boil. Try as he might, Hotch never could keep a level head around her. Once again, he held the bridge of his nose, trying to keep himself from exploding at her.

"Will you _stop_ doing tha-"

"Dammit, Emily," He muttered, before slamming his fist against the marble of her counter top. Emily jumped, the wine in her hand sloshing over the edge of her glass and down the front of her dress. "After _everything_, after all of it, you spent the entire night saying goodbye to everybody else and..." Every way he wanted to end that sentence felt pathetic. _And you forgot about me? And you decided not to acknowledge me? And you left me out? _"I just thought better of you. That's all. I thought we'd been through enough that you had a little more respect for me than you demonstrated tonight."

This wasn't how he'd wanted tonight to go. When Emily came to him, when she sat across from him in his office and told him she was leaving, and she was leaving immediately, Hotch had felt an unfamiliar, unpleasant jolt in his stomach. He hadn't told her she was making a mistake, he hadn't asked her to reconsider, he hadn't tried to convince her to stay. There were lines that were never supposed to be crossed and, Hotch knew, they had both crossed them with seemingly reckless abandon. But, more than that, he remembered. He remembered every word said that night in her hotel room. She didn't know that. She didn't know how much of it he had meant, how he couldn't look at her without wanting her. How painful it was for him to accept that he wouldn't see her everyday. None of that was for her ears; it wasn't his job to tell her what to do, and he wasn't about to guilt her into staying by professing his feelings. Hotchner's didn't do that sort of thing. Aaron didn't do that sort of thing. If she wanted to leave, it was her choice and he would grin and bear it for her. It didn't take the hurt away, and Emily could sense as much when he spoke to her, and at the very least, he deserved a goodbye.

"I'm not just anybody, Emily. I deserve a goodbye." He said, aloud. One simple, final admission. "You owe me a goodbye."

Emily stared, speechless, the wine glass in her hand caught somewhere between the counter and her lips, though apparently forgotten. She stared at him, her mouth slightly agape, and Hotch watched as she tried to form words. Nothing. Feeling rather ridiculous after his outburst, Hotch glanced around, helplessly, then turned and moved to sit on her sofa. Leaning his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, Hotch waited a moment, sighing heavily. Still, Emily said nothing. It took her a moment, a moment longer than he would have liked, but eventually, he heard the clink of a glass, the slosh of wine, followed by her padding softly across the kitchen floor. Her perfume washed over him like a wave as she passed him and sat beside him on the sofa. There were two glasses in her hands now, and she held one out to him.

"Take it," She said, when he hesitated. "I have a flight tomorrow and if you don't drink it, I'll drink it and then I'll hold you personally responsible for my 8 hours of hell."

Hotch took the glass then, and couldn't help but smile. All of her anger was gone. There was still an edge to her voice, but that was just _Emily. _He wouldn't recognise her without it. The wine was sweet, sweeter than he usually liked, but Hotch drank it. Having something to do, something to hold, made him feel better. The wine was gone in a few mouthfuls and he set it down on the coffee table that was, otherwise, entirely bare.

"You're right," She said, finally, swilling her own wine around in the glass. Then she, too, set it down on the table and turned entirely to face him. Fixing him with those giant, brown eyes, Emily inhaled deeply, nodding. Hotch thought she was nodding more to herself than she was to him. "You're right, I'm sorry. You deserved a goodbye. You _deserve_ a goodbye." She held her hands out, palms up, helplessly, and shrugged. "I just don't know how to say goodbye to you, Hotch." The statement was followed by a small laugh of disbelief, and her hands moved to her hair, pushing it back from her face. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, she twisted the rings around her fingers. Emily couldn't sit still as she spoke more candidly with Hotch than she thought she ever had with anybody. "I don't know how to process the fact that I'm not going to see you everyday. I'm not going to talk to you, or hear your voice. I don't know...how to be _okay_ with that. So, I couldn't do it. I spent the whole night looking at you, waiting for a moment, and there were plenty. But I just...can't. Because being around you, looking at you, seeing you look at me it all...it makes me _not_ want to go. And I have to go. So, it's not that you don't deserve a goodbye, Hotch...it's that I can't say goodbye to you."

By the end of her small speech, Emily's throat was thick with emotion and Hotch was frowning. Then, his eyebrows lifted, he met her eyes, and they were both laughing. The absurdity of it all, the impossibility of their hideous timing, the absolute improbability of the two of them...they laughed until they cried, red in the face from the hysterical giggles that wracked them both, and Hotch was sure it was the wine that had tipped them over the edge for the evening.

"You know, we never did talk," She looked up at him through her lashes, all of her laughter slowly subsiding. "About..._it_. You said we would, that morning you made me coffee, but we didn't."

Nodding, his lips turned up at the corner, not quite a smile, more of a smirk, really. "We can talk about it, if that's what you want." He looked from his hands to her, finding her eyes half-closed, as she picked at her nails. Suddenly, he found his heart beating harder in his chest, blood beginning to pound in his ears. The air between them had changed, was charged. The next question he asked was low, suggestive, and once he said it aloud, he couldn't take it back. "I_s _that what you want to do, Emily? To talk some more?"

Suddenly, nothing about this seemed very funny. Something about the way he said her name, the knowing, confident smirk on his lips, the understanding that after tonight, she didn't know when she would see him again, took hold of her. It was like that day in his office all over again. He was like a magnet, pulling her closer and in that instant, all of Emily's inhibitions abandoned her. She wasn't nervous anymore. The coiled apprehension in her stomach released, like a spring she hadn't realised was tightened around her stomach, and she breathed out, sharply, as she saw all of the playful teasing in Aaron's eyes turn to something darker.

"No."

He didn't taste like coffee this time. He tasted sweet, like wine and wasted time and sex. Hotch's hand came up to tangle in her hair and Emily was aware of only him. Everything else faded away as Hotch kissed her. This kiss wasn't a battle, like so many of their other interactions. For once, it was a union. The closeness of it, the sharing of breath and one endless moment during which the Earth might have stopped spinning, and Hotch didn't think he would even have noticed as he explored her mouth with his tongue. Heat rose in Emily's cheeks as she felt Hotch groan into her mouth, tasting his tongue with her own, the kiss deeper, longer than any they had previously shared.

There were no mirrors, no cars, no profilers in the next room to catch them doing something they shouldn't be. It was just the two of them, a fact that Emily was intensely aware of as she moved, stretching one leg over Hotch and straddling his lap, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against hers as she pressed herself against him, his need for her growing steadily as they kissed. His hands, his huge, strong hands, came to rest on the dip where her waist met her hips, but he didn't grip, he didn't bruise, not this time. Not yet. Emily shivered as she felt his thumb running over the sensitive skin there and, even through the material of her dress, the touch made her stomach muscles contract, as he brushed over a nerve. Gasping, Emily broke their kiss, breathing heavily and leaning her forehead against his. He was smiling now, really smiling and Emily took a moment to commit that smile to memory.

It didn't feel real. Every other time he'd touched her, it had been rushed, a race to the finish line, the endgame clearly in sight. This...this was different. Her hands came up to cup his face, feeling stubble that was already growing back prickle her fingers. He was breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath, just as she was. Her chest brushed his as Emily tried to steady her own erratic breathing and Hotch's eyes roamed from her own, down her body, as his hands travelled from her hips up, tracing the curvature of her spine, to her shoulders, and back down again, taking in every curve of her body, unable to believe his luck that this was _finally_ going to happen.

When his eyes came back to meet hers, there was a question there, hidden in the depths of his dark eyes and in the deep lines that framed them. Emily moved her hands, one travelling up into his dark hair, the other tracing the curve of his jaw. Her thumb brushed, tentatively, over his lips and Hotch closed his eyes, catching her thumb between them, kissing it, his tongue tasting the salt of her skin for the first time. When he opened his eyes again, she was staring, wide eyed and breathing heavily, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Then she was gone. The weight of her, the warmth of her, withdrawn from his body and Hotch groaned aloud and reached for her, wanting to pull her back to him. With a laugh, Emily's arm slipped out of his grip, replaced by a hand and fingers that laced effortlessly with his own. She looked at him then, really looked at him, and this time it was Hotch who wanted to commit this moment to his memory. There was a playful, mischevious sparkle in her eyes, and the hand that grasped his own held tight, as though she never wanted to let go. Her dark hair was tousled by his hands, the strap of her black dress hanging off of one shoulder. He should have ran. A long time ago, he should have run away. Because she was getting on a plane tomorrow, and he was in too deep and that...that was going to hurt like hell.

But she pulled, gently, on his arm, and Hotch got to his feet, towering over her for a moment, seeing no flicker of doubt in her eyes, before she turned and let him to her bedroom.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**fair warning: this chapter is why this fic is rated M.**

Emily's bedroom, the only room in her flat that Hotch had never seen before, was entirely void of personality. The only sign that the room was still occupied at all was the black, linen bed sheets. Close to the door, there was another pile of offensive boxes, leaning precariously against two tall suitcases that were, presumably, already packed up. Reminders that this...all of this...she was saying goodbye. Dragging his eyes away from the boxes, Hotch's eyes lingered on the bed, unspeakable thoughts entering his head. Emily's hand was still warm in his own and she turned to face him, following his eyes to her bed, their fingers still interlaced. For a moment, they stood in the silence. There was an awkwardness, an awareness that they were about to cross a line and that, once they crossed it, there was no going back. It hung between them, their moment of pause, but her hand was still in his.

"Emily, I-"

"Hotch, for once in your life, shut up." And then her arms were around his neck, her lips crushing against his own, urgent and hungry. Hotch didn't need telling twice; he responded in kid, one arm wrapping around her lithe waist as the other came up to rest on the wall behind her. Hotch stepped into her space and Emily's back hit the wall, but still, it wasn't close enough for her. One of Emily's hands was tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting gentle circles in the short hair there. The other, she brought down his chest, feeling hard muscle beneath the pristine, white shirt he wore. She paused there, appreciating the wall of strength beneath her hand. She wanted him closer, and her arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, pressing the length of his body against her. Taking the hint, Hotch closed what little distance there was left between them, pressing her up against the wall, the hand that had been bracing them moving to tangle in her dark hair. She was intoxicating, her body moulded perfectly to his, like she had been made for him, and him for her. Pressed against her like this, Hotch could feel the rapid swell of her chest as she tried to catch her breath, unwilling to break their kiss. Eventually, she had to. Gasping for air, Emily's hands were on his shoulders, pushing his blazer from them. It hit the floor with a thud, and Hotch was briefly aware of his mobile phone in his pocket, but then she was biting his lip and unbuttoning his shirt and he didn't know anything other than her.

Emily fumbled over his buttons. She had only unfastened two when Hotch captured her lips with his, and she forgot all about his shirt. Her hands roamed from his chest, to his face, to his hair, the back of his neck, his hips, where she pulled his shirt out from where it was tucked into his jeans. She wanted him _closer_, as close as she could have him in their currently clothed situation. His aftershave, the smell of him, the one she had been used to for so many years now, was new, intoxicating. How had she become so accustomed to it that she had stopped noticing it? Hotch pulled away from her, breaking their kiss, and Emily whined like a displeased kitten, before feeling his lips press against her throat. Her whine turned quickly into a moan, as she brought her hand up, encouragingly, to tangle in his hair. Hotch chucked against her skin, and Emily felt the vibrations like an earthquake in her core. Leaning her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes, tracing small circles of encouragement on the back of Hotch's neck as he tasted her skin. With her eyes closed, Emily could focus entirely on the feeling of Hotch's mouth on her, every undulation of his lips against her.

Hotch took his time as he kissed her throat, tongue darting out to taste, to suck. It had been decades since he had first imagined what her skin would taste like beneath his tongue, and he was going to savour every moment of it. He paid attention to every little noise she made, encouraged by each sigh and every gasp. Each intake of breath, when his lips and tongue landed on a particularly sensitive spot, urged him on. When he felt her blood beating beneath his lips, he licked, slowly, from her throat up to her earlobe, pausing a moment to inhale her, nose buried in her hair. The vanilla of her shampoo, the scent that always floated past whenever she went by, brought it all back. The darkness of lust in her eyes, when she strode over to his desk and, with all of the confidence in the world, sat down on his lap...he could still hear her request, had heard it in every waking and sleeping moment since that day in his office.

_"Fuck me, Hotch."_

Hearing it now, in his head, while she was pressed against him, made him wild.

Emily didn't know what changed, but one moment she was enjoying the softness of Hotch's kisses on her throat, marvelling at how gentle he was, his almost infuriating ability to take his time, and the next, Hotch growled into her hear, his hand disappearing from where it had been holding her waist. He ran it down her leg, slowly, fingers digging into her thigh, and hitched her leg up around his hip. Emily didn't know what triggered the change within him, but when he thrust against her, even fully clothed, and growled like _that_ into her ear, Emily's stomach clenched with anticipation and she gasped into his open mouth as Hotch's lips returned to hers and he kissed her. All of his softness, all of his gentility, all of his patience, was gone. His tongue forced it's way into her mouth, stealing her kisses, teeth clashing against hers in his urgency. He thrust against her again, frustrated, and the denim of his jeans scratched against the sensitive, bare skin of her leg. Emily pressed a hand against his chest, applying pressure gently.

The loss of contact between them shocked her. Emily's foot hit the floor hard as Hotch stepped away from her and her leg slipped from his hip. Emily reached for him, to keep him from doing too far, when the distance between them chilled her. She caught him by his shirt, pulling him back to her, almost desperately, afraid he was going to spook and tell her they had to stop.

"Emily, I'm sorry," He started to apologise, breathlessly, and she realised he thought she was pushing him away to stop him. Her heart surged in his chest. He was so _good_. Always.

"Don't you dare apologise for a kiss like that." Hotch's voice trailed off when he realised her hands had worked their way from his shirt to his belt, and Emily was swiftly working on the buckle. She unfastened it, loosened it enough to unbutton and unzip his jeans, and then pushed them down. Eyes on his face, watching for his reaction, Emily reached for him and found him hard. Stroking him through his boxers, she watched Hotch's eyes close as his mouth opened in pleasure of _finally_ being released and touched, and she couldn't stop the satisfied smile that spread across her pink lips, swollen from kissing him.

"What do you want, Hotch?" She gripped him through the fabric, gripping just enough to make him twitch, wanting more. "Or?"

The groan that escaped at her unspoken suggestion gave Emily her answer and she understood him perfectly. This was just another language she spoke oh, so fluently. Stepping forwards, into his space once more, Emily stood on her tip-toes to kiss him, putting gentle pressure on his chest and forcing him backwards. Hotch stepped out of his jeans as he went and when his calves hit her bed, he sat. His eyes were open now, and wide, as he watched Emily kneel between his legs. Everything else he had seen, everything else they had done...it all paled in comparison. As she tugged on the waistband of his boxers and Hotch obediently lifted his hips so she could tug them down, he watched, mesmerised, unable to believe his own eyes, afraid to blink and miss a moment of this, of _her. _ He'd been hard since she'd kissed him on the couch and the release of pressure felt good, but nowhere near as good as her hand felt as she wrapped it around him. Emily stared. She'd seen it before, in the car, felt it in the elevator. His cock was just as pretty as she remembered; perfectly pink, his head already slick with pre-cum, purple and blue veins ridging it's surface. It curved, she noted, ever so slightly to the left. Tracing one of the blue veins that stood prominently out with her little finger, Emily delighted when Hotch's hips bucked. It was a reflex, independent of him. She liked that, and traced the vein again, ever so softly, just to watch him, just to hear his moan.

"Emily..." It wasn't quite a request, but she heard the desperation in his voice and, much as a part of her wanted to tease him to his wits end, an even stronger part of her wanted to taste him. As she stroked his shaft with one hand, the other resting gently on his thigh, and leaned over him, Hotch couldn't take his eyes off of her. Then, close enough that he could feel her breath on the head of his cock, she paused.

"Oh," She said, softly, "I forgot." Sitting back on her heels, Emily tugged her hair up into a ponytail, wrapping the elastic around it, and Hotch thought he might explode just from that sight. _That fucking ponytail..._ For years, he had fantasised about her, and now she was kneeling between his legs, holding his prick and leaning over him...

He tasted good. Emily swirled her tongue around his head, concentrating on the tender underside, her eyes locked onto his and not straying for a moment. Hotch couldn't have said a word, even if he wanted to. His breath was caught in his diaphragm as he watched Emily swirl her tongue around him, expertly. She pulled away, leaning down and running her tongue up his length in one smooth, slow motion. Hotch gripped the bed sheets at that, and saw Emily's eyes flick to the side, see it, and crinkle around the edges in a smile. _Smug little minx._ As it turned out, she had every right to be smug. She teased him a while longer, fondling his balls with her free hand as she gently pumped his shaft and swirled that expert tongue around his head, sometimes quickly, sometimes agonisingly slowly. She had lulled him into a false sense of pattern, of security, when, suddenly, she sank down, taking as much of him into her mouth as she could. Hotch felt himself hit the back of her throat, and cursed.

"Fuck," He cussed, unable to sit up any longer, his back slamming against the mattress as he fell back. He wanted to tell her how good she felt, but when he opened his mouth to speak, all that he could manage was a throaty moan. Emily didn't need words to know how crazy she was making him. Hearing him moan like that made her need for him grow, her insides clenching with anticipation as she imagined what other use he could put his cock to. She didn't gag, as he hit the back of her throat, though her eyes watered. Hotch was both awed and impressed, his hands dropping to her hair. "Don't stop, Em. Don't stop."

Emily chuckled around him, amused that he felt the need to tell her to keep going. As she laughed, her throat vibrated against him and Hotch closed his eyes, focusing on the intense pleasure she was bringing him. Emily hallowed out her cheeks, sucking hard as she bobbed her head up and down, faster now, letting him slide further and further down her throat every time she surged forwards again. The way he begged her to keep going, his hands now in her hair, there wasn't a chance in hell she was going to stop. His words had gone straight to between her legs, where Emily knew she was wet; she had been since he'd kissed her on the couch.

Emily reached up a hand, sliding it beneath his shirt, and raked it down his chest as she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock once more. Her soft, wet mouth wrapped around it was a feeling Hotch wouldn't have traded for anything in that moment. He didn't think he could experience more pleasure, until his eyes landed on Emily's other arm, which disappeared between her legs, and he realised she was touching herself, rubbing herself through her underwear, giving them simultaneous pleasure. She met his eyes again, a mischievous twinkle in her own, and slowly took the entire length of him into her mouth as he watched. She held there a moment, constricting her throat around him, and, as she came back up, she let her teeth graze his skin, ever so gently, just enough so that he could _feel_ it.

"Stop, stop, stop," Emily halted at his words, and Hotch closed his eyes. She popped his head out of her mouth like a lollipop, and brought the back of her hand up to wipe at the saliva at the corner of her mouth. She had to stop, she had to, because he didn't want to be done too soon. "You're too good at that," Hotch was breathless, and he sat up, reaching for her and pulling her to her feet. She was taller than him from this angle. The hem of her black dress was lace and Hotch gripped it, tearing it up and over her head in one smooth motion. More black course, even Hotch, with his limited knowledge of women's wear,could see that this underwear set was expensive, and he realised in the same moment that he would have expected no less from Emily Prentiss. The contrast between her perfect, pale skin and her black underwear was shocking and Hotch took a moment to appreciate her, from the shapely length of her legs, to the toned, flat pane of her stomach, to the swell of her breasts, level with his head, as she breathed, slow and steady. His eyes found her face, finally, and she looked almost shy. It was the first time he had ever seen her so undressed, but Hotch felt like he had never truly noticed her beauty before now. Staring at her face, at the brown eyes that suddenly couldn't meet his own, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he smiled.

Emily was confused, as Hotch smiled up at her like that. The expression on his face was unnervingly unfamiliar. Nobody had ever looked at _her_ like _that_. Of all of the men she had taken to bed, and her number wasn't a small one, none of them had ever gazed up a her like Hotch was doing right now. Like she was something rare, priceless, ethereal. Something about that smile...it was as though he was being lit from the inside, out. Something in Emily's chest constricted, so tightly, it made her breath catch in her throat, and there was a sudden moisture in her eyes that hadn't been there before. Emily tried to blink away the tears, embarrassed by their appalling timing, but Hotch's hand came up to her face, pressing against her cheek. His thumb traced her cheekbone and Emily turned her face into his hand, pressing a long kiss to his palm. Her hands moved, finishing their earlier task of unbuttoning his shirt, and then Hotch was naked before her. His hands moved then, to the back of her head, and Hotch pulled her to him. Emily knelt on the bed, one foot still on the floor. This kiss was slow, deep, the kind of kiss that feels as though you have all the time in the world. As they kissed, Emily felt Hotch's hands on her back, unsnapping her bra as he kissed her. It slid down her arms, leaving her exposed to him, and Emily threw it aside. Hotch's hands were soft, almost nervous, but Emily surged forwards, pushing herself into his hands and Hotch tore his lips from his, taking in the sight of her breasts in his hands. Her necklines had been the subject of his dreams for as long as Hotch could remember. She'd been taunting him for years, and now she was offering herself to him. He squeezed, feeling her nipples harden against the palms of his hands, and leaned in, fastening his mouth around the left one, like he had been dying to do for months, weeks, _years_ even. Every time she'd worn one of those low cut tops to work, every time he'd seen her lean over a table, each time she'd reached over to take a paper from him. Every team night out, in town, or at Rossi's. He worshipped her, for all of those times, with his tongue, and hoped he could give her a fraction of the pleasure she had given him with hers. Her hand was in his hair again, her head thrown back, mouth open, focusing on the flick of his tongue against his hard nipple, the way his other hand came up to massage her neglected breast, catching her nipple between his fingers and pinching.

His cock was twitching, neglected and eager, but Hotch ignored it, focusing on her. Emily reached for him, sensing his need, but Hotch swatted her hand away. He wanted it to be about _her_. And, plus, he didn't trust himself to hold it together if she touched him right then. Instead, Hotch reached for her, using his free hand to tug down the thin, black lace of her thong. Emily gasped as the material clung to and peeled away from her wet core. Then, it dropped to the floor and Hotch cupped her between her legs.

"God, Em," He breathed, against her skin, and she knew he was commenting on the dampness between her legs, his tone desperate and impressed. Her nipple was still in his mouth when he spoke, sending vibrations across Emily's skin, and she bit her lip, momentarily overwhelmed by this moment she was living in. clinging to his hand and resting her chin on the top of his head. His hands, his huge, calloused hands, the hands that knew so well how to hold and fire a gun, those hands could be so gentle. He was gentle now, as he explored her for the first time. _The first and last_. The thought barrelled into her head like a train, giving her pause. She tensed, and Aaron halted, looking up at her, concerned. "Hey, are you okay?"

There it was again. That _look_. He was looking at her like _that_ again. This was...Emily couldn't have him looking at her like _that._

She shoved his shoulders and, once again, Aaron fell back against her bedspread. Emily crawled onto the bed, up and onto him, his wet cock leaving a trail of saliva and pre-cum down her stomach as she hovered over him. Hotch's hands found her hips as she kissed him, and Emily rubbed against him, gyrating her core over his hard length. His cock slid between her lips, rubbing against her clit as Emily ground down against him. It was delicious.

"I need you, Aaron," She told him, between kisses. Truthfully, she'd needed him for weeks, months, maybe. It had been weeks since she'd told him she wanted him to fuck her, and it was about time he made good on that demand. "Now!"

Now holding her hips still, so that she couldn't rotate them on top of him anymore, Aaron pushed and Emily obediently raised them. His cock twitched, standing upright, and Hotch held his shaft, guiding it towards her, not quiet believing this was going to happen. When she felt the pressure of his head at her entrance, Emily closed her eyes for a moment, intent on focusing as Hotch slid inside of her. She thought she was ready; Emily didn't think she'd ever been so ready to be fucked before, but Aaron was bigger than she had anticipated, and as he pushed the head of his cock inside, Emily felt the burn as he stretched her open. It was pain, but it was also pleasure. So much pleasure. Emily kept going, sinking down onto him, with assistance from Hotch as his hands never left her hips, until she was sitting across his hips, impaled, breathless and already sweating. Hotch looked from her eyes to where they were joined, where he disappeared inside of her, and back again, not yet content to believe this was real. He made to move, but Emily put a hand to his chest, holding him down. Her eyes were closed and she shook her head, asking for a moment, as her walls adjusted around him. Neither of them moved, but as she tried to steady her breathing, Emily felt the familiar surge of pressure, her walls beginning to constrict around him and Hotch stared in amazement as her head fell back, her mouth open in a blissful _oh_. Seeing the absolute pleasure on her face, and wanting to send her over the edge, Hotch's hand moved from her hip to her clit, his thumb rubbing over it in tiny circles, and he groaned when he felt her walls grip him, and Emily cried out.

"Oh, oh, Aaron!" She was breathless and beautiful as she fell apart, her first orgasm wracking through her body, goosebumps appearing on her skin and her nipples hardening once more. It took all of his willpower not to thrust, desperately, into her, but Hotch held himself in check. Emily collapsed against his chest, breathing heavily, her breasts pressed flush against him, a thin sheen of sweat glossing her body. Hotch wrapped his around around her back as she came down from her high.

"How did you...?" She was asking, breathlessly, but Hotch just shook his head.

"No,baby, that was all you." Sensing her relaxing around him, Hotch began to slowly pump his hips, slowly and steadily, the additional lubricant from her orgasm making him slick, and Emily moaned against his ear.

"Yes, yes, yes," She was whispering, more to herself than to him, but Hotch took it as all of the encouragement he needed. His hands moved from her back to her ass, and he held her still as he sped up his hips, hitting a rhythm that elicited a repetitive moan from Emily as he repeatedly bottomed out inside of her.

With every moan, Hotch's confidence grew and Emily's forehead was soon pressed against his shoulder, her words having dissolved into tearful gasps of pleasure, emphasised by the smack of skim on skim as Hotch hammered into her. Her fringe was plastered to her forehead, her mascara, already destroyed by an evening at Rossi's, staining the skin beneath her eyes, but Emily didn't care. All she cared about was the absolute pleasure of having Hotch inside of her, of his breath in her hear, and the enthusiasm and abandon with which he slammed into her, over and over, chasing his own high as well as wanting to give her another.

Hotch surprised her when he wrapped a strong arm around her waist and flipped them over. He did it all without slipping out of her for a moment and Emily moaned in appreciation of this new angle as Hotch started up his motions again, loving the weight of him on top of her now. His brow was slick with sweat, as were his biceps as Emily gripped them, her fingers nowhere near close to meeting around the bulge of his muscle.

Hotch reached for her leg, hitching it up, stretching her open for him as he set a new, vigorous pace. Her perfect body beneath him was, Hotch had decided, a miracle of no small proportions. Letting go of her leg, he leaned down to kiss her, for the first time since entering her body. He put everything he had ever wanted to say to her behind that kiss. She was still leaving tomorrow, but right now, as he pounded into her, deeper, even than before, that didn't mater. He could pretend this was their forever, like he wanted it to be, and not just one night he knew neither of them would ever forget.

Emily could see it all in his eyes and, in true Emily fashion, as soon as her emotions got involved, Emily backed away from them. It didn't matter how well he kissed her, or how good the sex was, or _what_ she saw in his eyes...she was still leaving. So when he kissed her like _that_, when he made her stomach flutter like it was full of butterflies, when her heart clenched so tightly in her chest that Emily thought it might burst, and the tears sprung to her eyes once more, Emily pushed him away, turning onto her hands and knees. She presented herself to him, eager and waiting and wet and terrified of all of the emotions his touch stirred inside of her. When he entered her again, immediately and without a moments hesitation, Hotch was rough and fast, understanding exactly what she wanted from him. Emily felt the head of his cock rut up against her cervix and cried out.

The reality of fucking Emily Prentiss was so much better than the fantasy and as Hotch wound his hand into her hair, tugging it into a pony tail, pulling it so that her head came up and she rose, pressed, bodily, against him, he could not, for the life of him, understand why they hadn't done this years ago.

He was nearly there and the hand that wasn't wound through her hair moved, tweaking Emily's nipples, teasingly, to settle between her lets where he began massaging her clit in time with his thrusts.

_How did he do that?_ Emily thought, as the ability to speak abandoned her. She tried, tried to encourage him, but all that came out was a babble of unintelligibility. Emily had been fucked before, or so she had thought, but never like this. Her stomach coiled, muscles in her pelvis tensing as Hotch's cock and fingers worked their tireless magic on her body.

"Hotch, I'm gonna-"

"I know, me too," He turned her head, his mouth claiming hers. "Cum for me, baby. Let go, Em."

The scream that wracked her as her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave was swallowed by him. As her walls clenched around him, Hotch felt the familiar rush of his orgasm, hot and burning. Emily felt every spurt of him inside of her, relished every second of it, as her walls milked him dry. Pleasure was still wracking her body, electricity shooting from inside of her to her clit, where Hotch was still stroking her, gently. Emily had to stop his hand, sensitive as she was from her orgasm, taking it in her own and pressing it against her stomach, she gasped, breathlessly, against his mouth. Hotch's other hand came up to her hair, stroking gentle as her orgasm subsided. She was still shaking, tear tracks dragging mascara down her cheeks, as she kissed him, putting everything she could never say to him into that kiss. They stayed like that, Hotch still inside of her, their arms entangled, for a long moment, before Emily opened her eyes and released his hand.

Hotch shifted away from her, slipping out of her and settling back against the bed sheets and Emily stood up, glancing from him to the door.

"I gotta..." She said, by way of explanation, before disappearing from the room into the bathroom.

The sheets were rumpled, disturbed, and Hotch set about straightening them before he settled into bed beneath the covers, sitting up, waiting for her return. There was, he realised, every chance that she would send him packing, but he didn't care. He wanted to stay, and he would tell her so. When Emily returned, she glanced from the bed sheets which had obviously been straightened, to Hotch, sitting upright in her bed, his hands folded on top of the covers. Then she smiled. He obviously had no intention of going home tonight and, honestly, Emily was relieved. She wanted him here, more than she wanted anything else in the world right now.

"That's my side," She told him, walking towards the bed. Relieved and amused, Hotch moved over and pulled down the sheets on her side so she could climb in. It didn't matter that it was her side, because as soon as she was settled beneath he covers, Emily reaching back and pulled him towards her, tucking herself into the safety of his arms, her legs tangling with his. He pulled her to him, their nakedness feeling like the most natural thing in the world to both of them, and fell asleep breathing in the sweet scent of vanilla.

* * *

**oh god be kind nothing has ever stressed me out like writing this did**


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

It had been so long since she had slept in the security of someone's arms. So long, in fact, that Emily couldn't remember if it had ever actually happened before. It must have, she decided, but the truth was that, more often than not, her lovers left before the morning. She always woke up alone.

Hotch fell asleep first, his breathing slowing to a steady rhythm, his chest rising and falling against her back in the same comforting metre. His arm fell across her waist, hand pressed against her stomach, and she laced her fingers through his, her palm pressed against the back of his hand. How had it come to this?

It had been coming, she thought, as she shifted slightly backwards and Hotch's arm tightened around her stomach, instinctively, pulling her closer to him, for a long time.

* * *

It had been the best year of her life. Well, the best ten months, and that was largely down to _finally_ being away from Elizabeth. Ambassador Prentiss had never been the most present parent and, yet, somehow, every aspect of Emily's life, down to what she wore to dinner, was dictated by the woman who couldn't so much as turn up to a dance recital. Emily hadn't even wanted to take those dance lessons, so it stung even more when Elizabeth didn't show up. But that was years ago. As she climbed out of the private cab Elizabeth had sent to the airport for her, Emily barely glanced at the house - _estate_ \- in front of her. It was just like all of the others. Grand, old and too big. Back when she was a kid, it would have been her idea of a haven. She would have spent the whole summer exploring the rooms, finding new hiding places, building dens in secret places and, just generally, hiding from her mother, or whichever nanny she had that season.

Emily had grown tired of American architecture quickly, since being back in the States. Used to the rolling expanses of British estates, spanning acres, and the gold embossed fountains of their Italian _il palazzo_, the sapphire encrusted tiled floors of their Indian _havelee_, even the grandest American mansions paled in comparison. They lacked the history, the mystery, the allure. There was nothing romantic about an American mansion. She would come to think differently about that by the end of that summer.

"Can I help with your bags?" An unfamiliar voice asked. Emily waved, absently, towards the boot of the cab, still skipping songs. She took a few steps, then turned back.

"Hey, can you-" Her voice faltered. England, Italy and India didn't have _this_.

He was older than her by a couple of years; she'd put him at maybe 25, 26? His dark hair was just a little too long, flopping down into his eyes as he easily pulled her suitcases from the trunk of the car. "Hot."

"Excuse me?" He glanced at her, and Emily faltered a moment, over her words.

"I was just saying, aren't you hot?" He was wearing a black suit, his red tie fastened severely high. His black sunglasses shielded his eyes from the sun, but it was the middle of June in Arizona, and the sun was directly overhead. In her gym shorts and Yale hoodie, even Emily was starting to feel the heat. "Surprised you're not a puddle in that suit."

He didn't respond, but shook his head, closing the trunk and patting the car, to let the driver know he could go. The car roared into life and left the long drive as this new mystery man, who had to be a new member of Mother's security team, began to pull her suitcases up the gravel towards the house.

"I can take one-" She offered, but he ignored her, "Or _not._"

They walked up the drive in silence, ascending the steps to the front doors, which stood open. In the foyer, he set down her suitcases and turned to her, taking the sunglasses from his face. His eyes, she noticed, were brown. Soft brown. Softer than anything else about him.

"I'll have these taken up to your suite. Your mother is out, she asked that you dress for dinner and be ready at eight o'clock."

Everything he said, he said with diction and purpose. Just a man following his orders.

"Right," She nodded, glancing around at the tall foyer. Just another old, stuck-up building with pictures of old, stuck-up people on the walls. "I'll do that, thank you. Agent-?" They were always agents.

"Hotchner." He supplied. "Agent Hotchner, Miss Prentiss."

Emily smirked at being addressed this way. "It's, uh, it's Emily." She walked towards the stairs.

"Do you need me to show you where your rooms are?" He asked, politely.

"Oh, I'm sure I got this covered. But, thanks." She mock saluted him, a grin on her face, before heading upstairs. "See ya' later, _Hotch._"

This summer was going to be more fun than she had thought.

* * *

She'd been a tease all summer, Emily recalled, though a seemingly unsuccessful one. Try as she might, roaming around the estate in short-shorts, in bikinis as she lounged in the gardens and at the pool. Hotch hadn't so much as glanced at her for the rest of the summer, if he could help it. Every conversation between them was the result of a request or an order from Elizabeth. _Your mother asked that you...Ambassador Prentiss suggested that..._He was just following orders. Now, she knew better. Now, she knew she wasn't the only one tormented that summer. She also knew, however, that Haley had been in the picture back then. If she had known at the time, would she have altered her behaviour? Would she have behaved herself? Emily smiled against her own hand, where it was tucked up beneath her cheek. _Probably not_.

The smile faded from her lips as Emily caught the shape of her suitcases looming in the dark. The boxes that leaned against them created a hulking monster in the corner of her bedroom. It didn't scare her, but it made her chest ache with a longing she knew was premature. She clung tighter to Hotch's hand, closing her eyes and focusing on his breathing to try and soothe her to sleep.

It wasn't an impulse, when the words rose to her lips. It felt more like choosing between the fight and flight response, an intense surge of knowing that if she didn't say it now, she might never get the chance.

"I love you," She whispered into the darkness. Hotch didn't move. His breathing didn't falter. He was fast asleep, and Emily was glad. She had said it, at least once, she'd said the words out loud. Admitted it to herself, and to him. That Hotch was unconscious was, Emily bargained, inconsequential. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

* * *

Morning came far too quickly, bringing with it the streaming sun through curtains neither of them had thought to close, and when Hotch woke up, it was to Emily's face inches from his own. She had rolled away from him in her sleep, onto her stomach. The sheets had tangled around her body, leaving her back exposed. Her leg jutted out from beneath the cover, black hair spilling like melted chocolate across the pillow. Even in sleep, she frowned. He knew that expression; it was one she wore when something was bothering her, when she couldn't figure out the last piece of the case that would stitch all of the pieces together. Her lips were pursed, pouting like a petulant child. She was, he thought, smiling, adorable.

Waking up with her this time was very different to the last. He leaned in towards her, splaying his hand across her back, and kissed her forehead. Emily mumbled in response, groggy and quiet, but aware. Smiling against her skin, Hotch moved down, kissing her ear, then her throat, her shoulder blades. With each kiss, Emily hummed in approval. There were definitely worse ways to be woken up.

"What time is it?" She asked, blinking sleep out of eyes and frowning up at him.

Hotch shrugged. "Phone's over there," He nodded to where his blazer had been discarded the night before. Emily rolled her eyes, hoisting herself up on her elbows and leaning across him to check the alarm clock on his side of the bed. Hotch leaned back, obediently, not about to complain about the naked lady laying on top of him.

"Eleven," She settled back down, but her head remained on his chest. She lay there a moment, quiet, and then looked up at him, chin resting against his chest. "Last night was-"

"I know." Hotch agreed, leaning forwards to capture her lips with his own. She kissed him back, lazily at first, but then with a steadily growing fervour. Hotch eased her slowly onto her back, and Emily brought her arms up to wrap around his neck as he climbed gently between her legs, discovering her all over again. They didn't speak, each movement and sensation amplified by the silence, the lack of a need for words.

It was lazy sex. Sunday afternoon sex. _Lets spend the rest of our lives together and grow old_ sex. It was different to anything Emily had ever experienced before. She'd always scoffed at people who called it _making love. _Now, she realised, she understood the distinction. Emily came not with a scream, this time, but a sigh of otherworldly pleasure, and Hotch followed her immediately over the edge.

"So," He spoke into her neck, planting kisses. "Breakfast?"

"I can't," Emily pushed his shoulders gently, and Hotch sat up. She climbed out of bed and wandered off to the bathroom. Returning a moment later, now clad in an over-sized t-shirt with the name of a band he had never heard of plastered across her chest. It looked like an angry band. "What?" She asked, when she saw him staring at her.

"You _can't_?" He was smiling, teasing, "How come?"

"Well, I have a plane to catch," She said, with a smile, as she bent down to her suitcase and began unzipping the top one. "I've gotta be at the airport at two."

Hotch felt like she had dropped a boulder on his chest. And he was well aware that he had no right to feel that way, but that didn't stop he cocktail of emotions that poured into him. Devastation, anger, embarrassment. Her nonchalance shocked him. She hadn't even paused, in between last night and today. There was no hesitation in her at all. Hotch stared, elbows resting on his knees, for a moment, before nodding. Throwing back the covers, he bent down to grab his boxers from the floor and pulled them on. "Right. Your flight, of course."

The shortness of his response caught Emily off guard and she paused in the act of dragging out a pair of leggings from her case. "You knew I was leaving." She told him, gently. He was pulling his jeans on, now, buttoning them, as he nodded. He didn't speak and Emily turned away from him once more, casting a glance heavenward as she braced herself. This was going to turn into a confrontation quickly, and she knew that wasn't what either of them wanted. She also couldn't _stand_ that look on his face, though. Just like the evening before, the atmosphere had changed so quickly that neither of them had the chance to process it. Emily sighed, standing up and turning to face Hotch where he stood. "Say something."

"Say what?" Hotch asked, as he pulled the sleeves of his shirt from inside themselves. The shirt was rumpled, lipstick marks on the collar.

"I can, uh, iron that for you," Emily offered, running a hand over her face before placing both on her hips. It seemed a sensible enough suggestion until Emily remembered that her iron was packed away in one of the many boxes now decorating her apartment. That, and she didn't think she had ever turned the thing on since she bought it. That's what dry cleaners were for. He glanced at her, frowning, before pulling the shirt on and beginning to do the buttons. The offer had been a pointless one, they both knew it.

"It's fine. Are you all packed? Do you need any help?" As the queen of compartmentalisation, Emily could spot the symptoms anywhere. Hotch was employing the tactic of distraction.

"No," She told him, shaking her head and now folding her arms across her chest. "No, I'm all packed. Do you want to talk about this?"

He didn't. She could see from his body language that he did not want to talk about it, but she asked anyway. She asked because _someone_ had to be the grown up, and grown ups talked about these things. She asked because she would be getting on a plane in a couple of hours, and didn't know if and when she would ever see him again. She asked because of the words she had whispered into the night, because she had meant what she said, and because when someone you love is hurting, you talk. But Hotch didn't want to talk. And that was when Emily realised. She loved him. He didn't love her back. If he did, he would understand; he would be able to let her go because this was what she needed to do.

"We could try long distance?" She offered it up, almost desperately, grasping for strings as she saw the edges of whatever had grown between them begin to fray.

Hotch sighed. "That wouldn't work, Emily. You know it wouldn't."

Indignant at the dismissive response, she raised her eyebrows. "Why not? Will and JJ did it!"

"Will and JJ commuted between Washington and New Orleans for a year. It's a three hour flight. It's a three hour, _internal_ flight that doesn't take you across an ocean, Emily. London is on an entirely different continent."

"I don't need a geography lesson, Hotch!" She raised her voice, matching his volume. "I'm aware of the logistics. What? Are you saying this isn't worth trying for?"

The hesitation ripped through her heart. It made her sad, and then it made her mad, and the next thing Emily knew, she was outright yelling at him.

"You have no right to be this angry with me!" She raised her hand, pointing an accusing finger at him. "No right! You don't get one night of sex and suddenly think I'm going to change all of my plans for you!" He was staring now, like he wanted to be anywhere else. His face was thunderous, his brows furrowed tightly, angrily. But Emily was angry, too, and she suddenly didn't care about how he was looking at her; like someone he didn't know, and someone he liked even less. "What did you think, Hotch? That I was going to put all of _my_ dreams on hold? What for? To stay home and take care of Jack? Have your dinner ready on the table for when you come home from the BAU, where _you_ work with _our_ friends? Pop you out a couple more kids, in the meantime? That's not _me, _Aaron! I'm not Haley! I will never _be_ Haley!"

_ You can't put the genie back in the bottle. _It was a saying one of her nannies used all of the time whenever she did something wrong. She would cry, beg forgiveness, throw horrific tantrums, like any six year old does, but the statement never changed, and it never became untrue. It was done. The words had left her mouth and she saw Hotch's face fall. A light went out behind his eyes, like a shutter slamming closed, and Emily knew that, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

"I should go." Emily couldn't find it in her to argue with him, mostly because she knew he was right. She stood there, watching him gather his blazer up off the floor, and then he disappeared, out of her room and into the hallway. She almost let him leave, almost let him walk out of her life right there and then. Emily has never chased a man before in her life.

Almost at her door, he turned at he sound of her bare feet slapping on the wooden floor, and just as he turned, just in time to catch her, he found his arms full of her. Emily pressed a hard, forceful kiss to his lips, and Hotch wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, almost too tightly, raising her onto her tip toes. He held onto her for a long time, knowing it would be the last. The anger in his chest didn't go away, but, for a moment, Hotch set it aside. For a moment, he let himself believe she was his. Then he set that aside, too.

"Call me, okay?" He said, into her hair. "When you land. Just, let me know you're safe."

She nodded, and he gently released her, her feet planting themselves firmly on the ground once more. Wrapping her arms around herself, Emily tried to smile as she saw him out of the door. Neither of them said goodbye. She watched him to the end of the corridor, until he was out of sight, and then headed back into her empty, cold apartment. Closing the door behind her, Emily felt all of her strength leave her, and slid down the door. She sat there for a long time, long enough that when she finally moved, she had to rush, barely having the time to throw out her black bed sheets because, well, there was nobody here to have them dry cleaned.

* * *

It was four o'clock in the morning when Emily finally arrived into London Heathrow airport, thanks to a delayed flight and the time difference. And it was raining. A pathetic, miserable drizzle that clouded her window on the plane, and ran like tears on the glass. She hadn't cried, not on the plane. That was too cliche. They always cried on the plane in movies. Emily point-blank refused to be _that_ girl. She didn't cry in the cab on the way to the hotel Clyde had booked for her. She didn't cry alone, in her hotel room.

She cried in the shower, at 5am, pathetic, wretched sobs, as she washed the smell of him from her skin.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Emily considered not texting him. She climbed out of the shower, regarding herself for a moment in the full length mirror that ran the length of her hotel bathroom. Tracing the length of the scar on her abdomen, the puckered, pale pink line that Hotch hadn't even seemed to notice. She tried to see herself as he had, clean of her scars; with no evidence of Doyle, or any other wounds. Without the bullet wound in her shoulder, or the still healing graze across her arm, where Ryan Foulder's knife had cut her. Hotch hadn't seen any of that. He had just seen her.

There were red bruises on her throat, slowly purpling around the edges, and Emily traced them lightly with her fingertips. As she touched them, she closed her eyes, and remembered the feel of Aaron kissing her there, his tongue tracing over her...blinking, Emily pulled herself out of the reverie, annoyed at herself for dwelling, and annoyed at her body for the way she involuntarily reacted to the memory of his touch.

Shaking her head against the memory, Emily tugged one of the huge, grey fluffy towels that the hotel had provided around her damp body, unable to stand the sight of her scars anymore. She left the steamy bathroom, leaving the door opened behind her, and wandered over to the bedside table where she had left her phone plugged in and charging. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she turned the phone over and over in her hand, mulling over Hotch's last words to her. The screen lit up in reaction to her touch, and a landscape photograph, taken at one of Rossi's gatherings, shone brightly up at her in the early morning gloom.

There was Morgan, with his arm thrown around her shoulders, grinning at the camera. Neither she nor JJ were looking at the camera. JJ was saying something and Emily's eyebrows were up, her mouth open in a shocked grin. Emily couldn't even remember the conversation, but she smiled anyway, because whatever JJ had been saying was obviously hilarious. Reid and Penelope were beside JJ, back to back, posing like Charlie's angels. Nobody else had noticed them until later, and the mystery of how Penelope got Reid into that pose still remained. And, on the other side of Morgan, there was Hotch. Also with one of Morgan's arms slung around his neck, his own arm around Rossi's shoulders. He was grinning, from ear to ear, at something Rossi had just said. That smile was the whole reason she had made the picture her lock screen. Those smiles were rare. It reached to his eyes. Staring at that picture, an image, of him smiling up at her, an entirely different expression in his eyes, invaded her mind. Even retrospectively, that smile made her heart clench in her chest. Emily closed her eyes against the picture, but she could see his smile in her minds eye. It wasn't the one from the picture, it was the one she had seen in person...the one that spoke a thousand words without saying a single one out loud. The one that had terrified her to her core.

She unlocked her phone and pulled up his contact, purely because he'd asked her to.

_Arrived safe. _Emily typed out, then paused, unsure of what should come next. She couldn't tell him she missed him. Not because it wasn't true but because it hadn't been that long since she'd _seen_ him. And, even if it had, she still couldn't tell him she missed him. Or, at least, she wouldn't. She mulled it over a moment, looking at the screen ,before sighing and dropping her hands into her lap. Gazing out of her hotel window, Emily watched raindrops race each other down the glass in the early morning gloom. The sky was grey, dark clouds peppering the horizon.

_Arrived safe. Weather's shit._

In the end, that was all that she sent. He'd asked to know she was safe. Small talk about the weather was a low blow, she knew, but what else was there to say, now?

Then she put away her phone and got ready, preparing herself for her first day on the new job.

* * *

Hotch knew he wasn't getting the job before he went for the interview. By now, he knew who the other applicants were and they were both older than him, both had more experience and both had adult children, for whom they were no longer responsible. Hotch would never look at Jack as a problem, he loved Jack more than anything in the world, but that didn't mean higher ups wouldn't take the fact that Hotch had a child to prioritise into consideration. It would be the same for JJ, or anybody else in the Bureau with dependants. It was logical; people without responsibilities outside of work could dedicate more time to their work. It was reflected in his file, he knew, down to the date when he had become a single father. His numbers had changed, dramatically. Even with Jessica helping him out, Hotch knew he needed to be there for Jack more than he ever had been before, and he hadn't once regretted that choice. Even today, as he sat and waited for the interview he had been worrying about and preparing for for almost two months, he didn't regret that choice.

And then there was the BAU. His team was efficient, trustworthy, hardworking. They were also reckless, hot-headed and, at times, downright irresponsible. And they were _his_ team, which meant their actions were, ultimately, a reflection on him as a leader. Every file he'd had to fill out, every statement he'd ever had to give, every explanation. They would all be stacked against him, not for him. It didn't matter how many positive outcomes they'd had, how many victims they'd saved over the years. All that mattered was the red tape they'd cut through to get here, the protocol that had been ignored, the dangers his team had put themselves in for the good of the case. Morgan with his bombs in ambulances, Reid with his brilliant ideas of splitting up and going after Unsubs alone, Emily with her _I can take it. _Each and every time, his chest had swelled with pride, but brave decisions weren't always the right ones, as they had found out on more than one occasion.

And then there was the disobedience. The BAU not following rules was one thing, but Aaron Hotchner purposefully turning his back on the rules was another. He'd done it an infrequent number of times over the years, but probably still more so than anyone else applying for the position of Assistant Director. Working on Sarah's murder, when Frank Breitkopf had returned, had been against policy and he had done it anyway. Refusing to take any other cases while the BAU worked tirelessly to find out who had shot Penelope. Going against all orders to find out about Emily's involvement with Doyle. It was personal. For Hotch, it had gotten personal. They would call him out on that, he knew. He was ready for all of the criticism, and he didn't have an excuse for any of it.

Sitting outside of the conference room, Hotch tried not to be aware of the shape of his phone in his pocket. It had been over a week. And nothing. She hadn't text, or called. There had been no update on whether she had landed safely, no text to say she was okay. She _was_ okay. He knew because he had overheard the rest of the team talking about it. Morgan and Penelope were, to his understanding, going to visit her next month. So she was absolutely fine, and that was good. And she was in touch with the rest of them, which was fine. But she hadn't text to tell him, and that was...Hotch pushed the thought out of his head. He didn't care. He couldn't care. Whatever there had been between them was over now, she was making that crystal clear with her radio silence. And by moving halfway around the world.

"Aaron Hotchner?" The door to his right had clicked open and, standing there with a smile pasted onto her face, was the Director's secretary. She gave him a supportive smile as he stood up and straightened his blazer, and Aaron set his shoulders back, determined to give the best impression, regardless of the outcome.

* * *

It rained for weeks. For weeks, Emily woke up to the rain. She stumbled through the rain on her way to work, her stockings ending up soaked through so that she had to dry them on the radiator in her office. Eventually, she jus ended up taking spare pairs into work and keeping them in the bottom drawer of her desk, changing them when she arrived at the office. She went for lunch in the rain, and it almost always ruined her hair. The sleek style she arrived to work with everyday would frizz, and begin to curl, and then she just looked like she had that morning in the hotel and...and she couldn't think about _that._

She spent whole days in her office, because field work wasn't in her job description anymore, and she had to be the figurehead in case anything went wrong. Finance meetings and sign-offs came and went, as the clock ticked past and Emily waited until she could leave. It was a strange feeling, doing practically nothing and being accountable for absolutely everything. It gave her an uneasy feeling in her stomach, and Emily wondered if this was how Hotch felt all of the time. When her day finally ended, the mountain of paperwork she'd had to fill out having subsided for the day, only to be replaced by an equally large pile tomorrow, Emily went home in the rain, too. And, when she got to the apartment she had _finally _found after weeks of looking, she would sit on the wooden floor, lean her back against the wall and stare out at the city.

The window had been the biggest selling point of the apartment. It took up practically an entire wall of her open-plan kitchen and living space. It reminded her a lot of her first apartment in Washington, except this one was bigger, and the view much nicer. She would watch from that window, exhausted after a long day of files and meetings and dealing with HR and PR and whatever other R's had come up that day, as it rained. She would watch the rain disturb the steady surface of the Thames, and would sit for hours. There was something almost soothing about the relentless and untiring rhythm with which the raindrops cascaded against the river. On bad days, days when the river wasn't still, Emily thought she understood what it felt like, to be so unsettled and turbulent.

Truthfully, Emily had never had more stability in her entire life. She had a permanent address, a bed she slept in every night, instead of hotel beds up and down the country, and a reliable job, where she knew how each day would unfold. She had never been more settled, or more bored.

* * *

Rossi found him first. Not that he was hiding. He was sitting at his desk, hands clasped on the polished wood. How long he sat there for, he didn't know. All he knew was that, at some point, the sun had gone down. The knock on his door barely registered, but Rossi's voice broke through his silence.

"So, how'd it go?"

"You're a profiler, Dave." Hotch said, putting a hand to his face and rubbing his eyes, suddenly itching with tiredness. "You can see very well how it went."

"I'm sorry, Aaron," Rossi took the seat opposite him and set the bottle of scotch and two glasses Hotch hadn't realised he was carrying onto the desk. He poured his own, and then poured Hotch a double. Handing it over the desk, Dave settled back into the comfortable, leather seat, and they sipped in silence.

"Have you heard from her?" He asked, eventually. Hotch had been expecting it, but not so bluntly. He glanced up from the amber liquid he had been staring into, raising an eyebrow. Dave shrugged, in response, and Hotch shook his head.

"No, no I haven't." He admitted, lifting the glass to his lips and letting the liquid burn down his throat, as though it could burn away the embarrassment of the interview, of everything that had happened with Emily. As though it could burn away all of the feelings she had left him with. "At this point, I don't expect to." He practically heard the _why _before Rossi even asked it. "It's been almost a month, Dave. If she wanted to talk, I would have heard from her by now. She's moved on."

"And what about you?" Rossi asked, leaning forwards to pour himself another drink. Hotch's glass wasn't yet empty, but Dave topped him up, anyway. "Are you moving on?"

He had thought about it, really he had. But how do you move on from something that never really was? She hadn't been his girlfriend, she had barely been his lover. It didn't make sense to move forwards when there was nothing to move on from. He shrugged, non-committal and hesitant, words failing him. It made him uncomfortable, speaking like this with Rossi. There had been no acknowledgement of his relationship with Emily between them, until this point. He'd always had the inkling that he older man knew, that Rossi's profiling skills hadn't let anything slip by him, but to talk so freely about it, to admit it aloud to someone other than himself, or _her_, made him feel strange. Especially now, now that it was over.

"I don't know." He admitted, finally. "I'm not _not_ looking, I suppose. I just-with work, and Jack. It's not like I have the time to be dating. And I'm too old for dating, anyway."

"Nonsense, Aaron," The older agent shook his head, scowling his disapproval. "I'm offended by proxy. If you're old, what does that make me? I won't listen to it. I don't care how, just get yourself back out there. Because you're moping."

"I am not moping!" Hotch protested, hotly. Dave raised an eyebrow, knocked back the last of his drink and stood up to take his leave. "I don't mope." He sighed, heavily. "Maybe I'll run the triathalon."

At that, Dave laughed, heartily.

"Either call her, or find someone new," Dave ordered, "Because, yes, Hotch. You do mope, and you are moping." He picked up the bottle of scotch from the table, taking the empty glass that Hotch offered to him, and made his way towards the door. By the time he turned back, Hotch had already settled back in his chair, hands clasped in front of him once more. "I'm sorry about the job, Aaron. Their loss."

With a nod that he hoped portrayed his gratitude, Hotch spoke.

"Thanks, Dave."

* * *

She spoke to them most days. Garcia was always checking in, sending message after message, with updates on their day. Opening her messages at the end of the day, glass of wine in hand, was fast becoming one of Emily's favourite past times. Where the others stuck to pleasantries and occasional event summaries, Garcia gave her every little detail, a step by step account of each of their days. Before she knew it, it had been a month, then two. At the end of this month, Penelope and Derek were coming to visit, and Emily told them over text how good it would be to see them. She wished the others could come, too, but JJ had the boys, Spencer didn't like to fly that far away from his mom, and Hotch...

Hotch hadn't responded to her text. That first night, when she'd gotten out of the shower and text him she was safe, like he had asked her to, was the last time she had tried to contact him. He'd ignored it. At first, it had infuriated her because why bother asking her to text at all, if he wasn't going to acknowledge it. Then, slowly, she let it go. He was moving on, she ought to do the same.

But, she quickly realised, it's hard to move on when you're the boss. Or, at least, that was what she blamed her lack of attraction to anyone at the office on. And when was she supposed to find time to look _outside_ of the office? The hours might not be as haphazardly structured as they had been at the BAU, and her job might not be half as interesting or exhilarating, but somehow, she was busier. Somehow, she was tireder. She used to wake up before her alarm and, after a coffee, be buzzing to get into the office. Lately, she usually snoozed it a minimum of three times, each time pleading for an extra five minutes in bed.

It was hard to make friends, too, being the boss. She spoke to Clyde much more frequently than she had ever thought she would, just because she knew him and he was, occasionally, around. Her secretary - it was strange that she had a secretary - was sweet enough, but a little vapid. A little too bland to strike up a stimulating conversation with. Emily was lonely and, for the first time in her life, the loneliness bothered her. She had never experienced that problem before. Before the BAU, she thought nothing of being alone. She had actually preferred it that way, for a long time. It was easy to be alone when you didn't trust anybody. Now, she'd give anything to be surrounded by that family.

Elizabeth visited, much to Emily's chagrin. She wasn't quiet lonely enough to appreciate _that_, yet. But, nevertheless, Elizabeth insisted on taking her out to dinner. Emily was only grateful that Elizabeth was too grand to accept the offer of her spare room. Instead, she had opted for a hotel. Emily had to hide her sigh of relief. So they went to dinner.

"This place is lovely, Emily," Elizabeth regarded the restaurant with approving eyes. Emily glanced around, too, a small smile on her lips. It was a restaurant she had walked past plenty of times on her way home from the office, but she'd never had cause to come inside. It definitely wasn't the kind of place you could go alone so, more often than not, Emily found herself ordering in an Indian and sitting in front of her window, watching the rain, or reading through texts from her team. "Have you been here before?"

"No," She shook her head, accepting the menu the waiter held out to her. "No, I haven't, mother."

Three courses, two £90 steaks and a £145 bottle of wine later, and Emily was just about done with her mother's presence. She had talked for almost an hour about _Donal_. He was the son of a friend of hers, from some sort of Irish ancestral background, and apparently _very _eligible. Whatever that meant in the 21st Century. And Emily hated it. Mostly, because once Elizabeth started talking about men, Emily had a horribly uncomfortable feeling in her stomach, and it felt suspiciously like guilt.

"Now, I know you're settling into your new job and your new place, but I don't see the harm in giving him a call. You know, he's head of a huge security firm. I'm told he runs half of London-" Emily had no idea what that meant, but Elizabeth was three glasses of wine in, and she never could hold her alcohol. Setting down her own glass, Emily sighed.

"Mother, did you come to London purely to set me up with somebody?" She demanded, impatiently. Their waiter, who had been on his way to their table holding the coffee and desert menu, halted on his journey and abruptly changed course to avoid their table. Elizabeth paused, regarding her daughter a moment. Her eyes were steady, her lips pursed, and Emily had the horrible feeling she was being appraised.

"Emily, I know I've not always been the most...present of mothers," At that, Emily snorted, but Elizabeth powered on, raising her voice slightly over her daughters exclamations. "But I am your mother and whether you like it or not, I know you. I know when you're sick, when you're sad, when you're happy, when you're hiding something. And you, Emily, are not happy. You're managing, you're getting by, but you're not happy. I don't know why, but I know that much. And, whether you believe me or not, I care very much about your happiness."

Emily was, momentarily, at a loss for words. She took up her wine glass and sipped at it, just for something to do, while she digested her mothers words. It was a rare display of sincerity that she wasn't used to from Elizabeth, and, given it's unpredictable and elusive nature, she wasn't quite sure how to respond to it.

"I don't mean to pry into your life," Elizabeth continued, when it was obvious that Emily didn't know what to say. "I only mean to help, where I can. So, if that means setting you up with somebody then, yes. I suppose that is what I'm here to do."

At this, Emily smiled. She dropped her head back and sighed, amused.

"Mom," She reached across the table and covered Elizabeth's hand with her own, speaking softly now. "I'm fine. I'm adjusting. But I have never, and am not about to, need a man to make me happy. That is not the problem here. I'll be _fine_. Although, I appreciate the sentiment. And the expensive dinner, because you're totally paying, right?"

Elizabeth laughed, reaching over the table, and Emily saw it happen as though in slow motion. It was the same thing Reid had done, months ago, in Utah. Elizabeth reached for the last of the wine, knocked her glass over on the way, and slapped her palm down as a reflex. The pool of red that appeared wasn't just wine. Waiters rushed over, offering cloths, and Emily took one. Elizabeth's face had gone deathly pale.

"Mom," Emily crouched down beside her, taking Elizabeth's hand in her own. It was clenched shut, like her mother couldn't bear to look. Emily pried her fingers open and pressed the cloth into it, to soak up most of the blood. "You're fine. It's a cut, and I think there's some glass in there. That's fine, we can get you to the ER and they'll sew you up, good as new. Can we get the bill, please?" She directed towards the waiters.

The ER, or A&E, was busy. Apparently London, much like New York, never slept. Emily sat her mother down on one of the hard, blue plastic seats near the vending machine, and then headed towards the desk. A receptionist, tired and bad-tempered, presumably from a long evening working the emergency room, was on the phone and, at Emily's approach, held up one finger. _Wait._ Emily's words caught in her throat and she swallowed them back down, closing her mouth, impatient but unwilling to be rude, as she leaned on the counter. She watched the minutes tick by and, presumably, the receptionist was on hold because Emily didn't hear a single word come out of her mouth.

"Excuse me," She tried to be polite, but the receptionist held up her whole hand this time and Emily's eyebrows shot up her forehead in shock. "_Excuse me-_"

"Can I help you?" A voice from behind her interrupted and Emily turned, confronted with what she assumed to be a doctor. She was slightly shorter than Emily, blonde hair curled around her face and pulled up into a ponytail. Her brown eyes were smiling, but Emily could see the tiredness there.

"Actually, yeah," She told her about Elizabeth and, moments later, the doctor had her checked in and had led them both to a consultation room. The doctor introduced herself as Dr Isla Gartland. The whole procedure, if you could truly even call it that, was as easy as Emily had predicted.

"You're going to feel a little pinch, I'm sorry," Dr Gartland told Elizabeth. Emily, sitting beside her mother, rolled her eyes when Elizabeth's unwounded hand reached for her own. She patted her mothers hand, trying to be reassuring, but caught the smirk on Dr Gartland's face; obviously her eye roll hadn't gone unnoticed. The stitches were worse, and Emily tried to distract her mother.

"So, tell me more about Donal." She insisted, and Elizabeth, pleasantly surprised and blissfully oblivious, continued on to tell her all about Donal and his country estate and how he _had _been engaged but it turned out his fiance was a..._lesbian. _Elizabeth whispered the word, as though it was a secret, and, once again, Emily saw Isla's lips upturn, amused, as she concentrated on her mother's stitches. She worked quickly and, not ten minutes later, told them they were all set. She told Elizabeth to buy some painkillers, but that she would be absolutely fine on the whole.

"Thank you, Dr." Elizabeth graciously thanked her, then muttered something about going to phone her driver to collect them, and disappeared off down the long corridor towards the front doors of the hospital.

"Yes, thank you, Dr. Gartland," Emily smiled, about to follow her mother.

"Isla." The blonde corrected. Emily glanced at her, questioningly. "Uh, Isla. I usually let girls I wanna take out on a date call me Isla."

It took Emily a moment to register what was happening. "You're-you're hitting on me?"

"I'm sorry," Isla laughed, awkwardly, and Emily noticed the dimple in her cheek, "It's completely unprofessional and inappropriate while I'm at work, but you're gorgeous and I figured, I'm unlikely to just bump into you again, you know, London's a pretty massive city so...I guess, yeah, I kinda am. Maybe we could get coffee sometime,...?" Her statement trailed off into a question and it took Emily a moment before she realised what Isla was asking her for.

"Oh, Emily, I'm Emily Prentiss." So used to introducing herself this way, Emily found herself offering her hand, to shake Isla's, before she could even register what she was doing. Isla looked from her face to her hand, then back and, with that once again bemused smile, she took it.

"Emily, right. That is, unless you'd rather go out with Donal." The teasing was obvious and Emily actually laughed. Isla smiled at that. She was pretty. Beautiful, even. Emily still didn't know what to say.

"So, this is the part where you fob me off or you say yes, right?" Emily was still getting used to the British slang, and found it jarring most of the time, but, coming from Isla's plump lips, it was suddenly almost endearing.

It wasn't until later in the evening, when she was curled up on her couch, updating JJ on her eventful dinner with her mother, and Isla's first text buzzed through to her phone, that Emily realised, for the first time since being in London, she had stopped thinking about Hotch.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

Running kept him busy. When he was running, he wasn't thinking about anything. Not about work, not about responsibilities, not even about Jack. And _especially _not about _her_. He ran almost every morning now, sometimes twice a day, if Jessica had Jack. The triathlon was getting closer and he had to be ready, if only because Morgan and Dave would never let him live it down if he wasn't. So, come rain or shine, he ran. Occasionally he used the gym at Quantico, but Hotch much preferred to run outside. The park right by his apartment was pretty small, but that meant he could do laps, and he felt better about counting laps than he did running for a set number of minutes. He aimed for twenty rounds of the park, sometimes added a couple more if he got a second wind. Whenever they were away on cases, he felt the lack of exercise when he came back and started up again. It was really a staggered experience, a lot of stop-starting, and Hotch was well aware that he ought probably to have started training much earlier. But now the team knew about it, and there was no backing out.

It was on one of his runs that he had met Beth. She had barrelled into his life in a way no woman ever had, and,he thought, that was part of his attraction to her. Beth was completely different to Haley. And completely different to Emily, who he was desperately trying to get off of his mind. After four months of non-stop thinking about her, of getting angry over why she hadn't text him back, he really needed to get the brunette profiler out of his head. Hotch had never lingered so much over one topic in his life, and now, it seemed, his every waking moment, and even his dreams, revolved around her, or, the lack of her. It had to stop.

So when Beth approached him, and Rossi seemed all for it, Hotch had figured; why not?

It had been decades since Hotch had been on a date. Or, at least, a first date. Nothing seemed to go right for him. Jessica got tonsillitis, so he had to call around and find somebody to have Jack. JJ came to his rescue, and, earlier that day, he had taken a very excited Jack over to the Jareau's for a sleepover with Henry.

"Thanks for this, JJ," Hotch said, gratefully. The blonde, arms folded across her chest, turned to him in the doorway from where she had been telling the boys to be careful on the new carpet.

"Yeah, of course. Henry loves it when Jack comes over; they keep each other occupied, so they're no bother." She smiled at him, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Hotch nodded, putting his hands in his pockets and turning to leave. He paused on the top step, turned and caught JJ about to close her front door.

"Have you heard from her?" He didn't have to specify which _her_ he was talking about. He held himself back in the office, didn't mention Emily unless someone else brought her up, and even then, rarely engaged in the conversation. And what little he caught was often not very concise. JJ glanced into the living room, where Will had gotten out the Lego and was beginning to build some sort of battleship with the boys. Stepping onto the patio, she pulled the door to behind her.

"Yeah," She nodded, "All the time. She's doing well."

Hotch nodded. He wanted to know more, he wanted to ask more, but he daren't. If Emily wanted him to know, she would text him. And he wasn't going to infringe on her privacy like that. Instead, he asked about the other members of their team. "And Morgan and Garcia? Do you know what time their flight leaves?"

"Uh," JJ checked her watch, working out the time differences quickly in her head. "Yeah, about now, actually. 8:15. They land in the UK at around 6. They were both really excited."

He smiled. "I'll bet." And turned to leave again.

"I can let her know," JJ called from the porch, and Hotch turned back to her. "That you were asking after her, I mean. If you want."

He considered it a moment, and then shrugged. "I don't mind, either way." And he really wanted to mean it.

* * *

The day was _finally_ here. Emily leapt from the car at the arrivals gate, with Isla calling to her that she would go park the car and then come to join them. Emily barely heard her, waving a grateful hand behind her as her girlfriend drove away. After their flights being repeatedly postponed because of cases, they were finally here. They had boarded their flight nine hours ago and Emily had been actively staring at her phone screen, watching their plane make its way across the Atlantic ocean eagerly and anxiously.

Standing at arrivals, twisting her hands and craning her neck over the crowd, trying to spot them as they came out of baggage control. She spotted Morgan first, and knew Penelope must be close by him. And, sure enough, the blonde buns that bobbed along beside him in the crowd had to belong to her PG. She waved to them, and caught the smile that lit up Morgan's face as his eyes found her. The crowd thinned, slowly, but then she had them in her arms. Wrapping an arm around each of them and pulling them to her so tightly, she was sure she almost hurt them, Emily closed her eyes. She wasn't expecting the tears, but they came anyway. Morgan hugged her tightly, strong arms encasing her, making her feel safe, and the babble of Penelope's voice in her ear was something Emily didn't realise she had missed so much until she had it back.

"Oh, you're here!" She said, stepping back and looking at them both, eyes shining with happy tears, before she pulled Penelope into a tight hug. They swayed on the spot for a moment, Emily trying to compose herself, her head buried in the blonde hair that still smelled like strawberries, before she stepped back and looked at Derek. He had removed his sunglasses, and he was looking at her in a way that made her heart clench. When she hugged him, it felt like home. "You're here." She repeated, quietly, and he held her a little tighter.

"Em?" The voice registered behind her and, for a moment, panic flared in her stomach. She squeezed Derek, closing her eyes. "Don't be weird about this, okay?" She muttered, desperately, into his ear. Stepping back from him, Emily stood to the side. Derek's arm was still around her waist. "Hey," She greeted Isla with a smile, "All parked up?"

"Yeah," The blonde nodded, hands thrust into her pockets, "Yeah, I parked in the short stays car park. Figured you guys would want to drop your stuff back at the flat sooner rather than later, right?"

Derek and Penelope were agreeing, but they when they glanced at Emily, the confusion that was hidden behind their politeness was obvious, at least to the former profiler. Isla didn't seem to notice anything a miss.

"Morgan, Penelope, this is Isla." She stepped out of the safety of Derek's arm, instead wrapping her own arm around Isla's waist, as Isla's came up to rest on her shoulder. She saw both of their eyes flit down, take that in, and come back up to meet hers. "My girlfriend."

A beat. Just a beat, of silence, as they processed. And, then-

"Hi!" Penelope smiled, brilliantly, and threw her arms wide to embrace Isla. Emily had warned her girlfriend about this, but she hadn't needed to. If anything, Isla was more of a hugger than Penelope was. The hug gave Emily the chance to cast a questioning glance in Morgan's direction, but whatever she expected to see there, there was, instead, pride.

"Well, well done, Princess," He grinned, as Penelope stepped back and he accepted Isla's hug. "Britain's being good to you, baby, huh?"

"Ah, the famous flirting," Isla joked as she hugged him like they'd been friends for years and Morgan laughed at her comment.

"Oh, you've been warned, have you?" He looked between the blonde and Emily, who smirked.

"Of course she has, I wasn't going to let you pounce without giving her a fair warning."

Relief flooded through Emily. It felt as though she had been holding her breath. What she had been fearful of, she didn't know. She had expected surprise, and surprise was valid, given the circumstances. But she should have know they would take it in their stride without missing a step. She loved them all the more for it. Isla laughed at Morgan's joke, and then Penelope was whisking her away, just as Emily had predicted she would, with an arm threaded through Isla's. Emily heard Penelope mutter something about Buckingham Palace, and merely grinned at Isla when she cast a glance over her shoulder.

Morgan's arm found her waist again, and she felt the soft kiss he pressed to her hair.

"So, Princes digs chicks now, huh?" He asked, as she linked his arm and they followed after Penelope and Isla. She nodded, curling her lips in and raising her eyebrows.

"Believe me, it shocked me, too." She laughed, "But she's great. I think you'll really like her. _I _really like her."

"Whatever makes you happy." She knew by the warmth in his voice that he meant it, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I've missed you."

* * *

The restaurant was quiet, soft jazz playing in the background. That didn't help; Emily loved jazz.

_Stop it_.

Hotch saw Beth walk through the front door, and was on his feet by the time she caught sight of him. She beamed at him, and he waited for the jolt in his chest that he knew wasn't going to happen. It wasn't that she didn't look beautiful; she did. It wasn't that he didn't find her attractive; she was, objectively, an attractive woman. The twist that did happen in his chest had absolutely nothing to do with her, and had everything to do with her black dress and her dark hair. Before Beth reached the table, Hotch had admonished himself several times, and resigned to keep the dark-eyed Interpol agent out of his mind for the remainder of the evening.

"Hi," Beth reached him, a smile on her face, and he returned it. When she leaned in to kiss his cheek, it felt awkward and unnatural, but Hotch went through the motions, stepping around the table to pull her seat out for her. "Thank you."

"So," Hotch asked, gesturing to the waiter as he took up his seat, "How have you been? Training going well?"

"Can I get a white wine, please?" Beth smiled up at the waiter.

_White wine, huh?_ Stop it.

"Training is good," She turned back to him, once the waiter had departed, "It's a killer, but it's good."

Her choice of words made Hotch smirk, and she smiled back at him. There was a moment of silence, and then the waiter returned with her wine, setting it down in front of her. "Are you ready to order?" He asked, and Hotch shook his head.

"We haven't had a chance to look at the menu yet." He said, handing one across the table to Beth, who took it gratefully. Hotch had glanced over it before she arrived, and was probably going to go for the steak, but Beth pondered a while.

"I'm torn between the spinach and feta torte and the tomato orzo."

"You're a vegetarian?" Hotch asked, rethinking his steak. Beth nodded.

"For about eleven years now." She seemed to read his mind because she gave a little laugh and shook her head. "But don't worry, I'm not one of those girls who's going to be offended if you eat meat. Each to their own, right? I just never really liked it as a kid and then one day just stopped eating it."

Relieved by her apparent liberal attitude towards omnivores such as himself, Hotch voiced his gratitude. "Thanks, because I was considering the steak. One of my co-workers is actually a vegetarian. She recommended this restaurant to me."

"Oh?" Beth's interest was peaked. "Did she have any recommendations?"

"Actually," Hotch smiled, remembering his earlier conversation with the blonde from several days before, "I believe her exact words were, 'The butternut squash curry with spinach is to die for.'"

"Well then," Beth said, closing her menu. The waiter, seeing this, began to make his way over. "Choice made."

* * *

Breakfast took place at one of Emily's new favourite places, _Browns_. It was more like brunch, but neither Morgan, nor Penelope were complaining.

"Can I get you any drinks?" The waitress asked, smiling at them and holding her little notepad.

"Yes, cherub, I will take a mimosa, please." Garcia grinned back at her, and both Morgan and Emily looked at her, incredulously.

"It's 8am, baby girl," Morgan reminded her and Garcia shrugged her shoulder, exclaiming that she was on holiday and would drink whatever she liked.

"As a matter of fact, make that a round of mimosa's for everybody, since you complained!" She demanded, and the waitress smiled as she made a note of it. Emily glanced at Isla, who was shaking her head.

"Actually," The blonde spoke up, softly, "I'm sorry, Penelope, but I'm heading into work at about 12, so no alcohol for me, I'm afraid. That, and I'm driving. But I'm so down for drinks back at the apartment, later."

"Oh, sweetness, do you have to go to work? We are so loving getting to know you." She meant it sincerely, as well, and said it without so much as a glance in Emily's direction. At that moment, Emily's love for PG swelled in her chest and, encouraged by it, she took hold of Isla's hand on top of the tablecloth.

"Yeah, she's gotta get back to saving lives." Emily announced, proudly. Isla's eyes rolled back in her head and a blush crept up her cheeks at the compliment. Morgan raised his eyebrows.

"What is it that you do, Isla?" He asked, interested. He wondered what could make Emily, whose job it was to _literally_ save lives, the world over, say something like that.

"Oh, I'm just a doctor at the hospital-"

"An Emergency surgeon at the Royal Hospital." Emily corrected, and Isla shot her a glance. "That's actually where we met, thanks to my mother. Which is something I never thought I'd say."

"It's really not as grand as it sounds," Isla tried to talk it down, but Emily was grinning, amused by her sudden show of humility, "I literally sewed up a scratch on your mums hand. It wasn't heart surgery. It's nothing compared to what you guys do."

"Hey, you would not believe how many doctors have saved our lives in the past, right Princess?" Morgan said, as their drinks arrived at the table. "So, as far as I'm concerned, it's pretty amazing."

"Here, here," Penelope agreed, holding up her glass for a cheers. Isla's cheeks were still pink, but the smile on her face told Emily that she liked Morgan and Penelope as much as they seemed to like her and, once again, the ball of stress that had settled itself into Emily's stomach eased a little more.

Several mimosa's later and the stress was all but gone. Isla checked her watch and grimaced.

"It's about that time, babe," She said, wiping her hands on her napkin, the remnants of her eggs Benedict still evident on her plate. "It's been so good meeting you guys, and I'll catch up with you all after my shift, yeah?"

"Oh, here," Emily offered, following her, "I'll walk you out. I'll be right back, you guys."

Derek watched as Isla caught Emily's hand in her own and they strode towards the door. Emily's free hand came up to wrap itself around Isla's arm and he couldn't help but watch through the window as they said goodbye, chatting for a moment before Emily caught Isla's lips with her own. The kiss was brief, chaste, but comfortable and natural.

"She looks happy, doesn't she?" Beside him, Penelope was watching too, swilling the last of her drink around the bottom of her glass. "Really happy." She did, that much was definitely true, and, truthfully, Morgan really did like Isla. But something was bugging him in the back of his mind.

"So, what do you guys wanna do now?" Emily asked them, as she settled back into her seat across from Penelope. "We can go see the Thames, we could go to the British museum, see the palace?"

"Pussycat that all sounds glorious," Penelope's statement was punctuated by a wide yawn, and Emily glanced, amused, at Morgan, who caught her eyes with a smirk. "But I think the jet lag is hitting me. And I know they say to power through it, but you know how cranky I get when I'm tired. Can I nap for a little while, and then we'll do fun stuff in a couple of hours?"

Emily agreed wholeheartedly and they split the bill before leaving. Penelope was charmed by the black cab Emily called to take them back to her apartment and, regardless of the yawns that kept interrupting her speech, she babbled the whole way back about things they passed, and when they drove beside the Thames, she started spouting facts about how it used to freeze over, hundreds of years ago, and people would actually hold winter markets on the frozen water.

"Aw, Reid, I've missed you!" Emily teased. "What about you, Morgan, you going to try and get some sleep, too?"

"Not me, I'm gonna power on through. She'll only be tired again tomorrow. Wanna hit the gym with me?"

Penelope didn't protest and Emily left her to her own devices in the apartment, unpacking a suitcase in one of the spare rooms like she would be moving in for the foreseeable future, and not just for the week. Morgan left his bag at the foot of the bed in the other spare room, changing into gym gear while Emily did the same. The gym was only downstairs, Emily told Penelope, so if she needed them for anything, she just needed to text.

"I won't be needing you for anything for a few hours, gumdrop," Penelope said, from where she had already nestled beneath the crisp pink bed sheets Emily had bought specifically with her in mind. They matched the bouquet of flowers Isla had bought her a few days ago, and the roses stood proudly in the sun that streamed through the large window, casting a sun spot right across the bed where Penelope lay. Emily smiled as she pulled the door to and headed out to the kitchen where Morgan was waiting. On their way down to the gym, they spoke about nothing and everything, but mostly about the team. Morgan told her about Rossi and how he was back in touch with an ex-wife of his.

"Crystall, something," Morgan shrugged. "But, you know Rossi, it won't last."

He told her about how Will had brought up the topic of another kid a couple of times, and each time JJ had freaked because, "She says one is enough with our hectic schedule." Emily had to admit, she didn't think JJ was wrong. She, too, had been a recipient of JJ's panic on the topic of having another child, and it sounded like Morgan had given much the same advice as she had. "I told her to chill, that if it's going to happen, it's going to happen. Henry wasn't planned, and look how that turned out."

Emily was smiling as she pushed open the door to the gym, unsurprised to find it deserted in the middle of the day. "So, what do you wanna do? Bit of cardio to warm up?"

"Sure," Morgan said, following her to the treadmill. It was easy to fall back into their old routines, which meant that as soon as they were both warmed up, they were in an unspoken competition. Who could go the fastest, for the longest? Morgan might always have been the faster of the two, but he lacked the same stamina as Emily had, so his treadmill was slowing down before hers. Panting hard, he walked to the water fountain and took a long drink while Emily gradually slowed down her machine.

"Some things never change," She teased him, drinking from the water bottle she had brought down from the apartment. Morgan shook his head with a smirk.

"No they do not," He wandered over to the mats, gesturing for her to follow. "And then some things change _a lot_, huh, Princess?"

She followed him to the mat and watched as Morgan donned boxing gloves from the rack nearby, throwing her a pair. "What's that supposed to mean?" She knew exactly what he was referencing, but if Morgan wanted to bring it up, she wasn't going to do it for him. She had expected questions, and she had expected them from him. Penelope could take anything in her stride; more often than not, Morgan needed a little nudge when confronted with something new. It was an intricate part of him that was easy enough to profile. His life had changed so suddenly when he was younger, with the death of his father, that change made him uncomfortable, uneasy. Morgan needed security, perhaps more than any of the others. Perhaps even more so than Reid. She fell easily into a defensive stance as she waited for Morgan to finish adjusting his gloves.

He shrugged. "Nothing, much. I just, uh," Searching for the words in his brain, Morgan seemed to give up and, once the gloves were on comfortably, he raised an eyebrow at her. "Isla?"

"Isla." Emily repeated, still unwilling to start this conversation. Morgan smiled, shook his head and held up his fists.

"We gonna do this, or what?" Emily let him drop it for the time being and they fell into step. When you've known someone for as long as Emily had known Derek, and as _well_ as she knew him, you learn to see their moves coming. They were, as they always had been, pretty well matched. Each getting in a couple of good blows towards the beginning, having been apart for some time, by the end they were meeting each other blow for blow and Emily called a time out.

"So, you ready to ask me, or what?" She said as Morgan sat down on the mat, lying down on it to catch his breath. Shifting her weight to one side, Emily raised her eyebrows at him. Morgan looked at her, from the awkward angle of where he lay, before sighing and shoving himself up into a seated position.

"Listen. You know that blonde girl upstairs is my baby girl, always and forever. But you're my Princess. The only thing I care about is your happiness, right?" Emily sat down on the mat, but said nothing as she listened to him. "In all the time I've known you, I've never seen you go with a chick. And, believe me, I think it's great. I think Isla's great. Hell, she's the hottest thing I've seen since we landed. Beside you, of course," He grinned when she looked momentarily offended, and the smile that settled on Emily's lips was a familiar one. "I guess I'm just concerned. You up and move cities, move jobs, move your whole life. It's a lot to change in a short amount of time."

The concern on his face made it impossible for Emily to be mad. In part, she understood where he was coming from. It _was_ a big thing to change and, since College, she hadn't been involved with women. Back then, it had been experimental. Everybody went through those phases, right? Isla, though, she told herself, Isla was different.

"I'm not fooling around with her, Morgan. I like her a lot-"

"Yeah, I can see that in the way you look at her, Emily. I just..." He paused, testing the words in his head, worried about saying the wrong thing and upsetting her. "Just make sure you've said goodbye to the past before you welcome the future in."

Narrowing her eyes at him, Emily tilted her head to one side. "What are you talking about? What past?"

"Hotch has been moping around for months, Emily." Morgan sighed, heavily, "I'm not an idiot. Whatever happened between you before you left has him thrown for a loop, and if it's done the same to you, it's not fair to pull Isla into that."

Emily felt her cheeks grow hot with a barrage of emotions. Anger, embarrassment, indignation. She stared at Morgan, mouth gaping, as she tried to form words. How _dare_ he-she didn't know who she was more angry with, Morgan for bringing it up, or Hotch, for somehow getting involved with her relationship, even from half a world away.

"Hotch? What are you-_moping around_? Let me tell you, Morgan, Hotch has no right to mope around, okay? He didn't even reply to the text he asked me to send him, letting him know I arrived safely. I haven't heard from him in six months. The last time I saw him he was leaving my apartment, mad that I hadn't suddenly changed my mind about...leaving..." She trailed off, too late. The words had already left her mouth and she stared at the wall behind Morgan's head, the words lingering between them, just as angry with herself as she was with him, now. Her lower lip trembled, as a thousand thoughts went racing through her head. She had said too much, but when she refocused her eyes on Morgan's face, he didn't look surprised. "Isla is not a rebound." She said, levelly. "She's just not."

"Okay." Morgan didn't say another word, and Emily appreciated it, although she didn't know who she was trying to convince with her words.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-One**

The rest of the week passed far too quickly for Emily's enjoyment. Isla worked most days and her shifts were sporadic, as usual, but she spent all of her free time getting to know Morgan and Penelope and, by the end of the week, they were as sad to be saying goodbye to her as they were to be saying goodbye to Emily. As a thank you, and a treat, Penelope had offered to cook dinner on their last night, roping Morgan into helping her. Emily had been only too happy to oblige, as Penelope insisted Rossi had taught her a new pasta recipe that Emily just _had_ to try.

"Ah, Rossi is Papa Pasta, right?" Isla noted, remembering his name from Emily's stories. The agents all laughed at her use of the nickname, which had been coined by Penelope years before.

"Yes, the Italian Stallion, himself." Emily agreed, grinning, as she poured them each a glass of wine. Their first bottle, already empty, had been discarded on the counter top. She pouted as she set the bottle down, placing the cork in the top as she did. "Oh, I miss him."

"He misses you too, gumdrop," Penelope, bedecked in an apron she had bought a few days ago, which Emily thought was the whole reason for her wanting to cook dinner in the first place. It had the Union Jack sprawled across it, along with the outlines of famous British landmarks. "We all miss you. It's not the same without you."

This was a conversation they'd had several times over the course of the week, more often than not of an evening, when the wine, or cocktails, had been flowing, and Emily and Penelope got a little emotional about it. Derek didn't get emotional, but he did get quiet. He was quiet now, as he obediently followed Penelope's orders of chopping up the vegetables for the pasta, while she worked on perfecting the sauce.

Emily didn't really have a response. She wasn't about to say she wished she hadn't left, not with Isla sitting right beside her, and the implications of that statement on their relationship. But London wasn't the same. She didn't have friends here, like she did in Washington. All of her friends here were Isla's friends and, nice as they might be, they weren't her team, her family.

"I know," Emily sighed, eventually, "But these things take time to get used to. You'll have a new team member soon, I'm sure, and they'll fit right in, just like I did."

"No one will ever take your seat at that round table, Princess," Morgan spoke up, eyes still on the chicken he was cutting, "Not now, not ever."

Beside her, Emily caught Isla smiling to herself, staring down at the wine glass in her hand. Sensing eyes on her, Isla glanced up, catching Emily's. There was a question there, but Isla just shook her head. _I'll tell you later_.

"Oh, yeah, Hotch has an _Emily_ chip on his shoulder, he's still pining after you like crazy, so I don't know if we'll be getting any newbies any time soon-" Penelope trailed off as Morgan stopped cutting, giving her a pointed look. "What?" Morgan shook his head, casting a glance heavenward. "Oh, I didn't-"

"Music?" Isla smiled as she stood up, walking towards Emily's stereo. From the sofa, Emily just shook her head when Penelope glanced between her and Morgan. It was her own fault. Not only had she never explained the Hotch situation to Isla, she also hadn't explained her lack of explanation to Penelope. Morgan had gotten the gist, but Em should have known better than to think Pen wouldn't slip up at some point during the week. Isla's blonde ponytail bobbed as she bent down to glance through Emily's collection of records, and Emily sighed to herself, not looking forward to the conversation she knew they would now have to have.

The conversation came later, after both Morgan and Penelope had excused themselves to bed. Dinner was delicious, although Emily doubted Rossi used quite as much garlic as Penelope did. She would have to ask him, the next time he called, although she didn't want to get Penelope into trouble. Rossi, she knew, was very sensitive about his recipes.

Emily disappeared to the bathroom, and when she came back, Isla was standing at the sink, elbow deep in the hot water, washing the dishes. Emily stood for a moment, leaning against the corner of the wall where the hallway met her lounge, and watched. She remembered, suddenly, a similar scene in Rossi's kitchen. Flashes from what followed flickered through her mind, but she pushed them away, like she always did these days, and kicked off the heels she had been wearing for dinner.

"You don't have to do those," She told Isla, who hadn't heard her approach and now smiled down at the bubbles.

"Oh, I don't mind." Emily wandered over to her slowly, moving behind her, and wrapped her arms around Isla's waist. Resting her forehead against the woman's shoulder, Emily closed her eyes, breathing her in deeply, before she spoke.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" She asked, knowing without explaining herself that Isla would know exactly what she was getting at.

"Not if you don't want to," The blonde countered. Emily frowned against her back. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Isla turned, grabbing a towel from the drawer beneath the sink and using it to dry her hands. Emily shook her head, offered her a smile. "Nothing."

"Listen," Isla laughed, a low, short sound, "I know I'm not a _profiler_, or anything. I don't catch bad guys for a living, I've never made it my business to study behaviour. But I know you. I know your behaviour. I know when something is bothering you, and tonight, the Hotch comments. They bothered you. You don't have to talk about it," Isla shrugged, blue eyes honest and wide, "But I'm here to listen if you want to."

"You're not...threatened?" Emily tested the waters, tentatively, and Isla's eyebrows shot up, a grin lighting up her whole face, before she laughed, heartily.

"Wow, Em, okay. Should I be?" She shook her head, her ponytail swishing from side to side. "I'm not threatened by a _man_ who is a whole ocean away on a different continent, on the other side of the world." She laughed again, but it died away quickly, and her blue eyes became serious, and vulnerable. "But, if I should be, you should tell me now. Because I like you, Agent Prentiss." Isla's hand came up, pushing Emily's hair back, settling on her cheek. "I like you a lot. And I'm not in the habit of getting my heart broken, because I don't give it away all that often." She brought her head close to Emily's, leaning their foreheads together, and Emily closed her eyes at the contact, her hand finding Isla's, where it hung be her side. "Are you going to break my heart, Emily?"

Emily kissed her, hard, urgently. She could taste the wine, and the garlic from dinner, on Isla's tongue, but Emily didn't care. She pressed forward, pressing Isla against the counter, and the blonde opened her mouth wider, inviting Emily's kiss, encouraging her to go deeper, as the hand on her cheek moved to tangle in her dark curls. Emily pressed her hips closer to Isla's, wanting her close and conveying her current needs at the same time. Breaking their kiss, Isla chuckled.

"Not here, not tonight," She said, lips brushing against Emily's as she spoke. "Your friends are asleep in your guest bedrooms so, for once, we should probably take this to bed."

Emily wasn't about to argue, and she let Isla guide her to her bedroom, where the blonde led her to the bed, sitting them both down and leaning back in to kiss her. This kiss was more tender, slow and loving and deep, and it made something in Emily's chest ache. She pushed the feeling away, instead, catching one of Isla's hands with her own, guiding it to her core as she spread her legs. Isla smirked against her lips.

"Someone's eager tonight." She teased, grasping at Emily's thigh. The brunette frowned, recapturing Isla's lips, jutting her hips forward, leaving no question of what she wanted. "Fine, pushy." Isla joked, as her hand moved to between Emily's legs, caressing her through her underwear. Emily sighed her approval as Isla's hand found her, legs spreading wider. She lay back against the duvet and Isla followed her, never breaking their kiss, as her fingers dipped beneath Emily's underwear and into her wetness. Emily felt Isla sigh, turned on by her enthusiasm, against her lips, and thrust her hips up to meet Isla's hand.

"Patience, love." Isla warned, smiling. Emily didn't want to be patient, though. She didn't want to _think_. With a frustrated groan, she sat up, Isla's hand disappearing from between her legs, and straddled the blonde, capturing her lips while her hands made quick work of Isla's shirt and bra. Emily's hands cupped her breasts and she shuffled down the bed, taking one plump nipple in her mouth, Isla's satisfied, and surprised, gasp giving her confidence. She swirled her tongue around, lavishing attention onto her girlfriend, and moved her own hips so that she was straddling one of Isla's legs, rutting slowly against it to give herself some friction. Isla's hands found Emily's ass, and she squeezed, roughly.

"Emily-" Isla said, breathlessly, "Emily, slow down." Frustrated, Emily rolled away from her, settling onto her back on top of the sheets. She was breathing heavily, irritation weighing heavily on her all of a sudden. Isla was smirking, amused by the pout on Emily's lips.

"You don't like being told no, do you?" The blonde acknowledged, turning and running her fingers down the centre of Emily's chest, tracing over the buttons of her blouse, and beginning to slowly undo the shirt from the bottom. Emily's dark eyes met the blue ones staring down at her and, stubbornly, she said nothing. Isla smiled, a wide, amused smile and Emily felt the corners of her mouth quirk as Isla's lips found her own.

Afterwards, as she lay in the dark, listening to Emily's slow, steady breathing, Isla realised Emily had never actually answered her question.

* * *

When Emily woke up, the other side of the bed was empty. Frowning in the weak light streaming through her curtains, she rolled over and grabbed her phone from the bedside table.

_Got called in at 4am. Pile up on the M3. Apologise to Penelope and Derek for me._

It wasn't unusual that Isla got called into work at all hours of the night, but sometimes, much like serial killers, Emily wished patients had better timing. Penelope was already in her kitchen, a pot of coffee on the go, as though it were her apartment, and not Emily's. Emily gratefully accepted the mug handed to her, parking herself on a stood at the island.

"Before Derek gets up," The blonde cast a glance towards the hallway. Emily could hear the shower on full blast. "I'm sorry about last night, gumdrop. About bringing up Hotch. I wasn't thinking. I guess I figured you and Isla had spoken about that sort of thing, and you know what I'm like, I think before I speak, and I-"

"Penelope," Emily held up a hand, stopping her friend in her tracks. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. No harm done."

A smirk appeared on Penelope's face, and she turned back to the pan of eggs she had on the go. Emily frowned. "What?" A shake of blonde curls. "No, I know that face. What is it?"

"Nothing, I just, well, I figured there was no harm done last night." She gave Emily a pointed look and it took a moment for Emily to realise what her cheekily raised eyebrows meant.

"Oh, god. England doesn't build their walls thick enough."

* * *

The first time she said goodbye to Penelope and Morgan, at Rossi's, Emily had known she would be seeing them soon enough. Of course, six months had passed in between, but they'd still had that visit on the horizon, and it had kept her going. Saying goodbye this time around felt like it would be for forever. Emily tried not to cry, because she knew that if she cried, Penelope would cry, and then Morgan would get all awkward like he did. So she tried, and she successfully held back the tears. That was the problem, she though, as she hugged them both tightly, with loving people. It always hurt when they went away.

"Text me, okay?" Emily insisted, letting go of them both and pulling Penelope into a hug all her own. Again, she was overwhelmed with the scent of strawberries. That made her eyes water, when she thought of how she would miss it. "As soon as you land. To let me know you're safe." She remembered hearing the words said to her not so long ago. _But I'll reply_. She thought, savagely.

Morgan wrapped a strong arm around her, setting his carry on down onto the floor so he could tuck her tightly into him with them both. "You got it, princess." He muttered into her hair.

She watched them head towards their gate, waving the whole time, Penelope waving back eagerly, until they were out of sight. Then she sat, on the hard silver metal of the chairs that faced he huge windows, staring out onto the runway. Their flight wouldn't be leaving for hours, but Emily sat long enough to watch three planes leave, knowing her friends weren't on any of them. The fact that they were in the same building, but she couldn't get to them, was almost worse than them being in a different country, Emily thought, so after a while she stood up, pulled her brown, leather coat tight about herself and headed back to the apartment, to savour what was left of her last day off work before returning to the office tomorrow.

* * *

The apartment was too quiet when she got back. She had gotten used to having Morgan and Penelope around, used to having the place be alive and loud. Now, she was back to living alone. Back to Isla spending nights whenever she wasn't working. Back to silent days sitting in her office signing off on paperwork and trying to follow up on dead end leads.

Setting about keeping herself busy, to save on dwelling over the dread that washed over her at the thought of heading back into work tomorrow, Emily loaded up the dishwasher with the plates and mugs from breakfast, then went to the spare rooms and stripped the beds. She was about to get rid of the last sign that her friends were ever here at all. Heading to the washing machine, she knelt down on the floor and began to stuff the bedding inside. Pausing over one of Penelope's pillows, she put it to her nose. Strawberries. That made her smile. In her coat pocket, her phone rang and Emily threw the pillowcase in with the rest of the washing before going to grab it out of her pocket.

"Hey, love. Sorry I disappeared this morning, it's been really hectic over here. Did Penny and Derek get off okay?" Isla's voice was muffled, and Emily knew she had called on her lunch break, between patients and follow-ups."Hey, you. Don't be silly, it's fine. Yeah, they're gone." Emily sighed, glancing around the place, as she wandered from room to room. In the room Penelope had slept in, the roses on the windowsil were on their way to dying. She plucked them out of the vase, carrying them through to the bin in the kitchen and dropping them inside.

"You sound sad." Isla remarked. "How about I pick up your favourite take away on my way home and we put on some binge-worthy TV that we just end up ignoring?"

Emily smiled down the phone. "That sounds great."

"Good. I'll see you later."

"See you."

Hanging up the phone, Emily found herself in front of her window. It was still her favourite place in the apartment, but she spent less and less time here these days. Sitting down, back against the wall, she stretched out her legs. The phone in her hand was warm and she set it down on the grey carpet beside her, fingers tracing over the back of it. The London Eye spun on the horizon, slowly. That was something she still hadn't done. She still hadn't been up here. Supposedly, the views of the city were magical. But, she liked her view from right here just fine. When her phone rang again, Emily figured it would once again be Isla, and she put it to her ear without checking.

"Hey, babe-"

_"This is a transatlantic call. You may be charged. Would you like to take the call?"_

"Oh, uh-yes," Emily frowned. A thousand thoughts raced through her head, and none of them were good. Was it Morgan and Penelope? They'd only left a few hours ago, anything could have happened in between now and then. Images of fiery plane crashes shot through Emily's head before she could stop them, but she blinked them away when the voice came back on the line.

"Hello? Is this Miss Emily Prentiss?" A woman. She sounded calm. Emily knew that tone; it was the tone she used with victims, and with their families. It was the forced calm of someone who has to deliver bad news.

"This is she." Emily mimicked the calm, forcing herself to wait until she had confirmation that this was bad news.

"My name is Doctor Louise Maddison. I'm calling from Mary Washington Hospital in Frederickburg, Virginia. We have you on file as the next of kin for one of our patients, an Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss?"

Emily sat down, her legs suddenly unsteady, and nodded. Then, when the Doctor prompted her, spoke. "Yes, she-uh, she's my mother. Is everything alright?"

_What a stupid question_. Is everything alright? If you're being called by a Doctor, from a hospital half a world away, everything is most certainly _not_ alright.

"Miss Prentiss, your mother suffered a heart attack. We believe it was stress induced. She's currently stable, but we're uncertain of how long she will stay that way. She's been asking for you. Now, I'm aware you're currently in the UK, but would it be possible for you to visit?"

A heart attack. Emily felt as though her own heart had skipped a beat in her chest. She gawped for a moment, unable to form words. Then stood up, blinked, and was immediately in motion. "I'll be on the next flight." With that, she hung up. Years of profiling, years of travelling around the country for her job, had turned Emily into an efficient packer and within ten minutes she had all that she needed in her case and was calling a cab to take her to the airport.

It wasn't until she was climbing into the car that she remembered Isla. Cursing to herself, Emily pulled her name up in her phone and hit dial. Voicemail.

"Isla, hey. My mum's had a heart attack, I've just had a call from her hospital. I'm on my way to the airport, I'm going to take the jet and head over there to see her. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. I'm sorry." When she hung up, Emily wasn't entirely sure of what she was apologising for. Perhaps just to keep all of her bases covered. But she didn't have time to ponder over it because as soon as she hung up the phone to Isla, she was scrolling in her notebook, down to the number of another important blonde in her life.

"JJ? It's me."


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

"So she's on her way here, now?" Penelope and Morgan had just walked into the BAU, having arrived back from the UK to news that Emily was currently in the air, following them across the Atlantic. JJ nodded. Morgan set down his carry on bag on top of his suitcase, parking himself on the edge of his desk. "Her mom's really sick, huh?"

"She had a heart attack." JJ said, solemnly. "I've been in touch with the hospital at Emily's request, told them to keep me updated. I'm going to meet her at the airport when she arrives and take her straight there. I already called Rossi, since he and Crystall are away this weekend. He said Emily's welcome to one of his guest rooms, so she at least has somewhere to stay without having to get a hotel."

"Well, I never thought I'd be sad to see my little pussycat." Garcia's face was one of shock and sadness. "But, Elizabeth, is she going to be okay?"

JJ splayed her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "All they could tell me was what they told Em. She had a heart attack and was admitted last night. She's been asking for Emily. They don't know much more, although they're monitoring her, obviously."

"Monitoring who?" Hotch had appeared from his office, and was staring down at a file in his hand. JJ looked from Penelope, to Hotch, to Morgan, and back to her boss, uncertain of what to say.

"Emily's on her way over, Hotch." Morgan cleared up. The Unit chief lifted his head, the file in his hands all but forgotten. "Her mom's sick. Heart attack. She's at Mary Washington, so Em's on her way to see her. Should be here in a couple of hours."

"I'm going to pick her up and take her there." JJ repeated her earlier statement. Hotch barely blinked, he just nodded.

"Give her and Elizabeth my best, please." He said, shortly, before continuing on his path straight out of the office, to wherever he was going with that file.

"Give her my best?" Penelope repeated, incredulously. JJ gave a helpless shrug and Morgan ran a hand over his face, exasperated by his boss, exhausted by the journey and concerned for Emily. He sat a moment longer, then vaulted to his feet, jogging in the same direction Hotch had headed. Anderson was on his way into the bullpen and Morgan caught the door as it swung shut behind him.

"Hotch!" He called down the corridor. His boss was already waiting at the elevator, and Morgan caught up to him just as the doors swung open.

"Morgan, I have a meeting." Hotch said, stepping into the lift. Morgan made the split decision and joined him.

"She texted you, man." He said, catching his breath. "She said she text you when she landed, just like you asked. She said you never text her back. And now you're sending her your 'best'? What is going on with you two?"

Knowing it was none of his business, and that Hotch would have no problem telling him so, Morgan expected the older man to round on him, to give him a piece of his mind, to tell him to stay out of it. Instead, Hotch was staring at him, frowning, almost confused. Then he reached into the pocket of his blazer, taking out his new phone. He unlocked it and Morgan watched as he scrolled through his messages. Even from a foot away, Morgan could see the red exclamation mark beside the message he pulled up.

_Not Delivered. _

"Dammit." Hotch muttered under his breath, slipping the phone back into his pocket. The bell dinged and the elevator's doors slip open. Hotch cast a glance back at him. "Thank you, Morgan."

Morgan wasn't entirely sure what he was being thanked for, as he watched Hotch leave.

* * *

The flight was the longest Emily had ever taken. She commandeered the Interpol plane, but even then, the flight seemed to take much longer than getting to the states usually did. She called JJ again from the air, just to check in, but the blonde had no updates for her. Then she called Rossi.

"Hey, _bambina_," His voice was sombre on the other end of the line, and Emily knew JJ had beaten her to it. "I already told JJ you can have the house for the weekend. You're welcome to the guest room for as long as you need it, of course. Crystall and I are in Vegas for the weekend, though, so feel free to come and go as you please-"

"Thanks, Rossi." She interrupted him, grateful but agitated and on edge. "Is Hotch working this weekend?"

"When is he ever not working?" Rossi made a good point, but Emily was reassured nonetheless. The last thing she needed this weekend was an awkward confrontation. If Hotch was working, she knew to stay away from the office and then she wouldn't even have to see him. He wouldn't even have to know she was visiting. She would be back in the UK before Hotch ever knew anything different. Back with Isla, who had turned up to her empty apartment with Indian from Emily's favourite restaurant, and had left her three voicemails since that Emily couldn't bring herself to listen to. They would all be supportive and heartfelt and '_don't worry about me_' and Emily couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand it because ever since she'd gotten the call about her mother, ever since she'd made up her mind to fly back to Virginia, the only thing Emily could think of was that _he_ was there. That, for the first time in six months, they would be in the same place, at the same time. So, no, she couldn't see him.

"You make a good point." She replied, without missing a beat. "Okay. I just wanted to say thank you, for letting me stay at the house."

"Anytime, you know you're always welcome, _bambina_." The softness in his voice made Emily wish he was sitting beside her on the plane, just so she had someone to hug, someone who would take charge and let her not be the responsible one for a while. She thanked him again, quietly, and hung up.

Below her, the Atlantic. Miles and miles of endless blue. Guilt gnawed at her, and Emily didn't know if it was guilt towards Isla or guilt towards her mother, who should be the reason she was so focused on getting to Virginia. She checked her phone again, but JJ had said she would call the moment she heard news about Elizabeth, so Emily knew there was nothing for her to be updated about.

_She might die, though_. A little voice in her head said. _Your mother might finally kick it. Haven't you been asking for that, for years?_

No. Emily shook her head, black curls waving around her face. No. Years ago, yes, she and Elizabeth had a tumultuous relationship, at the best of times. They had both grown up since then, Emily liked to believe. Elizabeth had never liked children, not even her own child. She had been a figure, a shadow, a ghost in Emily's young life for so many years that by the time Emily was old enough that Elizabeth finally took notice, it was, mostly, too late. Emily laughed in the face of the rules Elizabeth tried to put down for her. She balked at the plans Elizabeth laid out for her future, as if her absentee mother had any right to do so at all. She resented her postings, those that dragged Emily from one end of the world to the other. Nothing, it seemed, had changed much. Elizabeth was still dragging her across the world.

When her phone rang, Emily pressed it to her ear without checking the caller i.d

"JJ?"

"It's me."

Six months of radio silence hit Emily like a truck. Her words stuck in her throat, her chest squeezed. His voice...she hadn't heard it for six months. The last time she heard it, he had been saying goodbye. _I'm over it. I'm over him_.

"Hotch. Hi." She said, shortly. "I'm waiting for a call, I can't really-"

"I did text you." She halted, waiting for him to continue, shocked by the statement, confused by the insistence and angry that he thought it was an appropriate time to bring it up. "I got your text, the one about you landing safely. I text you right back. I thought you were ignoring me," She listened, intently, bemused by the entire situation. "I didn't want to overstep, I wanted to let you move on with your life, if that's what you wanted. But I checked today and that message I sent to you never delivered. I don't know what happened. Bad cell reception? I don't know." He sounded as relieved as she felt. "I thought you'd cut me out."

"Yeah," She spoke, finally. "Yeah, I thought the same."

"Stupid." Hotch laughed down the phone. "So, what do you think? Can I see you this weekend?"

"No." She spoke far too quickly, and the silence on the other end of the line told her it wasn't the answer he'd thought he would get. "I mean, I-uh, I'm going to be with my mom. I'm not here for a social visit, you know, Hotch? Maybe next time I'm back."

"Sure." He said, shortly. "Sure. Please give me best to your mom, Emily." The phone clicked off before she could reply and Emily took it from her ear, staring at it for a moment. She pressed it to her forehead, then dropped it into the seat beside her.

"We will never work, Hotch." She muttered, to herself. "We just won't."

* * *

"JJ!" Emily practically ran into the blonde's outstretched arms, and JJ clamped them around her tightly. She let her stay there long enough for Emily to compose herself; the tears that had been threatening since she'd said goodbye to Penelope and Morgan earlier, plus the exhaustion from the days worth of travel, made it impossible for her to speak for a moment. So JJ just hugged her, and gave her the moment. "Thank you."

Whatever she was thanking her for, whether it was the hug, or picking her up from the airport, or arranging everything with Rossi, JJ didn't care. It was so good to have Emily back that she didn't care.

"It's so good to see you." She said, when Emily finally pulled back from her. "I just wish it was under better circumstances." Emily nodded, agreeing. "I've not heard from the hospital so as far as I know, your mom is still stable. Did you want to head there straight away?"

"Are you sure?" Emily asked, "It's getting dark out - don't you have to head home? Aren't you guys working a case?"

"Will is fine with Henry and we're off duty for the weekend. Two weeks furlough for the whole team." She rolled her eyes. "It's mandatory, these days. We get it every six months."

"Where was that when I was here?" Emily joked, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and following JJ to the short-stay car park. JJ smiled at her, grateful for her friend back, and wishing it was permanent.

The drive wasn't long, close to half an hour, and Emily chewed her nails the whole time. Truthfully, she would have liked to light up a cigarette, but didn't think JJ would appreciate that in her FBI issued SUV, so she restrained herself. She could smoke later, when she got back to Rossi's. She knew where he kept the good cubans.

* * *

Elizabeth looked frail. She was asleep when Emily walked in, JJ a couple of paces behind her. It had only been six months, but Emily could see the difference in her mother. She was pale, thin, her skin pulled tight over her cheekbones, making them more prominent than ever. JJ picked up the chart from the end of the bed and ran her eyes over it.

"Her vitals are all good." She said, softly. Emily nodded, moving to sit in the chair beside Elizabeth's bed. She wanted to reach out and take her hand, but at the same time, a part of her was terrified, terrified of what she would see if Elizabeth woke up. Terrified of the fear Elizabeth would find in her face.

"I've never seen her so...human." It felt so foolish to say out loud, but Elizabeth had always been such an unearthly figure. Always so out of reach, out of touch. The power she exuded had touched everyone around her, including her daughter. Now, she looked weak. Emily felt JJ's hand on her shoulder, and felt a rush of affection towards her friend. "Thank you for being here."

"Of course. I'm going to get you a coffee. I'll be right back."

Passing a doctor on her way in, JJ glanced from Emily, to her mother, then disappeared down the corridor to find a machine. Emily got to her feet and took the hand that was offered by the doctor.

"Miss Prentiss, I assume?" She said, and Emily, in no mood to correct her, simply nodded. "I'm Doctor Louise Maddison, we spoke on the phone."

"Of course," Emily acknowledged, nodding. "Thank you for calling me."

"Your mother is doing well. We've not had any startling test results since she came in to us. It looks as though the heart attack was definitely stress related, because the scans we've done show that your mothers heart is very healthy, for a woman her age, otherwise. So, I'm prescribing some anti-anxiety medication, Beta Blockers, to keep her blood pressure down and hopefully decrease the incidents of abnormal heart rhythm. For now, I think that's all we can do, but we'll continue to monitor her for a few days, just to make sure. And, after that, she'll require regular check ups."

Emily nodded, hearing but not really taking in the information. It sounded like good news, and from the expression on the doctor's face, Emily could see that it was. She sank back into the chair, exhaustion taking over her in her state of relief.

"Thank you, doctor." She repeated, "Thank you very much."

She reached out, taking her mother's hand in her own, and this time, she couldn't stop the tears.

* * *

It was several hours later when JJ convinced Emily she needed to get some sleep. Emily agreed, knowing she wouldn't be able to, and let JJ drive her back to Rossi's. The blonde gave her the emergency key that was kept in the office, as well as the keys to Rossi's SUV, should she need to go anywhere, like back to the hospital.

"I'll come over tomorrow, if that's okay? Or I can meet you at the hospital?" Truthfully, JJ had no idea how long Emily would be staying. She assumed it wouldn't be too long, now they knew that Elizabeth was going to be okay, and she knew Emily had someone waiting for her in London. She smiled. "We need a real catch up while you're here. You need to tell me all about Isla."

_Isla._

Inside the house, Emily checked the time. It would be the early hours of the morning, now, in London. Isla would be fast asleep. Sighing, Emily set her bag down on the floor and leaned against the front door. She felt equally exhausted and wide awake, all at the same time. It had been the strangest of days, and all of Emily's adrenaline was racing. She headed directly for the antique box in the lounge that she knew Rossi always kept stocked with cigars. Heading outside before she lit it, the garden around lit up, motion sensors detecting her movement up on the deck. The pool glistened in the artificial light. Putting the cigar to her lips, Emily took a long, deep drag and closed her eyes, enjoying the familiar, mechanical motion that came to her easily and without effort. Her neck twinged, the pain of her flight finally catching up with her, and Emily put her hands on the rail, stretching her back out. That only seemed to make it worse. Straightening up, the cool waters of the swimming pool looked ever more enticing with the growing pain in her back.

Stepping out of her shoes, Emily made her way down the steps towards the pool. Her dress, she unzipped from the back, stepping out of it on her way down. When she sank into the water, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the side, careful to keep the hand holding the cigar out of the way.

"Emily?"

The cigar fell from her fingers and Emily got a lungful of water. The voice, unexpected and unwelcome, shocked her and Emily found herself choking. A splash nearby, and then a body right beside her, holding her up and patting her back. When she could breath again, she looked up with accusing eyes at Hotch.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She asked, slapping at his arm. He had jumped into the pool still wearing his suit, like an idiot, she noted. That was actually kind of sweet. But _stupid_. "I told you I didn't want to see you this weekend."

"I know. I decided that wasn't just your choice to make." He raked his dark, soaked hair back from his forehead.

"Oh, so you decided to break into Rossi's house and stalk me, instead?" Emily reached around him, grabbing the now floating and saturated cigar from the top of the pool and throwing it onto the side. "That was a cuban, Hotch! Rossi will kill me if he finds out I wasted it." She whined.

"Stop it, Emily," Hotch caught her wrists with his own and Emily felt the cool tiles of the pool against the small of her back, suddenly all too aware of how see through her white underwear had turned, as a result of her deciding to go swimming in them. It was perfectly fine when she was alone, but now Hotch was staring at her, and he had hold of her wrists, and every thought in her head seemed to revolve around him. "I got a new phone. My old phone fell out of my pocket that night we...that night in your apartment. I couldn't bring myself to come back upstairs, to say goodbye to you all over again. So I got a new one. I wasn't ignoring you. I wasn't trying to cut you out. I thought you were doing that to me, actually. See? It's a misunderstanding."

Emily blinked. "You...you got a new one?" She stared, momentarily perplexed by him, and then burst out laughing. "Hotch," She gasped, in between the laughter, "That's the stupidest-why wouldn't you just come back upstairs and get your phone?"

His tongue was in her mouth before Emily had the change to protest and it was like she'd been kissing him for years. He released her wrists, his arms moving to wrap around her back, and Emily's hands found their way into his hair. Hotch lifted her, though it took little effort in the water, and Emily wrapped her legs around his waist. Even in the water, she could feel his desire for her grow. Emily moaned into his mouth as she felt him hard against her core.

Eyes snapping open, Emily shoved at his chest.

"Hotch, stop. _Stop_. I can't."


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

"You have to leave, Hotch." Emily heard herself say the words, but she was intensely aware that her grip on him hadn't eased any. Resting her elbows on the edge of the pool, her thighs remaining locked around him, Emily dropped her head back as Hotch's hands came up, grasping her waist and then moving, slowly, reverently, up and down her sides, tracing her curves with his hands as well as his eyes. The tanned, flat pane of her stomach, glistening with pool water, slashed diagonally with her scar, tensed at the contact, defining her abs.

Hotch felt his mouth go dry as his eyes travelled from her neck, elegant and sloped as she leaned back against the pool, down to her chest, the dark circles of her areolas beneath her now-white sheer bra, down the glistening sheet of her stomach, to the dark triangle, pressed against him beneath the water, white panties doing nothing to hide her from his view as the water moulded them to the shape of her lower lips. Hotch devoured her with his eyes, pupils dilating, hungry with lust.

Her dark hair, shorter than the last time he'd seen it, clung to her nec. Hotch reached up with one hand,the other remaining clamped around her hip, and brushed her hair away, leaving her neck bare to him. Wrapping a hand around her throat, he squeezed, gently, testing the waters. Emily's legs tightened around him, pressing him in closer to her, and Hotch trailed his hand down her throat, slowly. He felt her shudder against him, her eyes dropping closed, as he slowly trailed his hand down her throat, between the valley of her breasts, back down to her hips.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked, low and gentle and sincere, bending low over her, his neck tickling her throat. "Just say the word, Emily. And I'll leave. Do you want me to go?"

_Yes._

He would. She knew he would. If she told him to, Hotch would turn around and leave and they would never speak of this again. And that was absolutely the route she knew they should take here. She should make him leave, get a shower, go to bed, and forget about it. Then, in a few days, she would fly back to London. Fly home, to back to England, back to Isla. She knew that was the right thing to do. That, just by him being here, they'd already crossed a line. That, with her legs wrapped around his waist, and his hard length pressed against her most intimate parts, with her current state of undress, she was already being unfaithful. But right now, Emily couldn't conjure Isla's face in her mind. All she knew was _him._

"No."

And, when Hotch looked at Emily, when she levelled him with those impossibly pretty, impossibly seductive brown eyes, they didn't remind him of his girlfriend, of Beth. They drove all thoughts of her from his mind. Emily spoke with her eyes and Hotch moved so fast that the water splashed about them. His hands moved from her hips, crawling up her back, pulling her to him, pressing her back against the side of the pool once more, his lips finding hers. He had missed the taste of her, had longed for it, had come to the thought of her lips, and her tongue, a hundred times over in the time they had been apart. He had fucked Beth and seen Emily's face. It brought him shame, but, right now, Hotch knew nothing but Emily. Her skin tasted like the chlorine of the pool, but beneath that, there was the sweetness he associated with her, the sharpness of her perfume, as his lips acquainted themselves with her. The scar across her throat had all but faded, but as Emily leaned her head back,giving him complete access to her throat, he found the faint white line, and he pressed it with kisses.

"I should go," He said, as Emily's mouth found his once more, her tongue pressing insistently into his mouth, tasting the familiar coffee-mint combination of him, and she agreed, humming in the back of her throat.

"Mm-hmm."

If only either of them had meant it, if only the pull wasn't so strong between them, or if either of them had the strength to fight the intoxication of the other, there might have been fewer broken hearts in the months to come. But neither of them meant it, and Emily only ground against his crotch as Hotch held her closer, feeling the pucker of her nipples through his shirt. His blazer was floating somewhere in the pool, Emily having pushed it off of at some point. Hotch hadn't even noticed. He didn't even disengage from their kiss as he reached between their bodies, fingers slipping over the metal of his zipper in the water.

When he pushed into her, Emily felt her whole world slow down. For a moment, she stopped kissing him, felt his breath on her lips, brown eyes meeting. He moved slowly, the water hindering any rapid motions, but Emily felt every moment of it, felt every inch of him, her breath stuttering as her body worked to accommodate his size. He didn't look away once, his eyes, almost black with lust, boring into her own. There was a fire there. A light, at the very centre of the darkness. It was that look again, but he wasn't smiling anymore, and this time, Emily couldn't turn away from it. It gripped her chest like a vice, guilt and pleasure overwhelming her. As Hotch moved, pulling slowly out of her, and Emily felt every ridge and vein scrape deliciously against her walls, the pleasure overwhelmed her and her guilt was forgotten. Everything was forgotten. Everything except _him_.

"H-uh," His name was lost in a sigh of pleasure, high and honeyed, from the back of her throat, and Hotch's grip on her waist tightened, the hang on her back pressing her closer to him. Head resting on his shoulder, Emily closed her eyes, the gentle lapping of the water against her skin a stark contrast to Hotch's strong, slow thrusts beneath its surface.

As she rested her head on his shoulder, Hotch turned, pressing a kiss to her hair, holding onto her tightly, knowing she wasn't his to hold, and he wasn't hers. They were two people who both belonged to someone else, two people who lived at opposite ends of the world, two people who had no business being in love, and there they were, anyway. His breathing laboured and Hotch closed his eyes, intent on savouring every moment he spent with her like this, focused on the way her walls constricted around him, pulling him in deeper, like even biology wanted them to be together. When she whimpered against his shoulder, as he thrust deep inside of her, Hotch thought his knees might give way and grasped the edge of the pool, using it as leverage to speed up his hips. Her breath hitched at this new, steady pace, and he heard her moan of approval.

Emily grasped at Aaron's soaking wet shirt, clinging to the fabric, as the pressure began to mount. Aaron's arms wrapped around her, as he felt her begin to shake, uncontrollably against him, and he came with her, emptying himself inside of her with a succession of muffled grunts against her shoulder. He held her, as she came down from her high, unsure of what to expect, unsure of his own feelings.

"Let me go, please," Emily mumbled against his ear, dropping her legs back to the floor of the pool, and Hotch did, his hands falling away from her. Emily didn't look at him as she turned around, pulling herself up on the side of the pool, and stalked away towards he house. She stooped down, grabbing her discarded dress on the way, and didn't look back.

* * *

She slipped the dress back on over her head, stepping out of her wet underwear, throwing them onto the bag she had dumped beside the door. Leaning against the counter, Emily pressed her palms into her eyes, taking a moment, because she knew he would follow her. And he did. He was still soaking wet, his clothes dripping across Rossi's wooden floor, and he just stood there, a puddle forming beneath him as he looked at her. Emily couldn't turn around, couldn't look him in the eye.

"You should go," She said, quietly. "Really."

"We should talk." He replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Emily tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling, sighing heavily. He couldn't see, but she was trying to blink back the tears. Tears of guilt, or tears of sadness, she didn't know. Both, probably. Shaking her head, Emily turned to him, her wet hair flicking water across her face as she did.

"What do you want me to say?" Emily felt like they had been here before. "What has changed in the past six months? It's only gotten harder. We have...people, now." She knew about Beth. She knew. JJ had kept her updated,and the first time she had heard about the brunette, she'd cried herself to sleep. But she was a hypocrite; Isla was waiting for her in London. Beautiful, loyal, loving Isla. The thought of the blonde made Emily's insides twist. "I can't look at you, Hotch. I can't-what we just did? What we just did, I thought I was better than that. And, this is completely unfair, but I thought _you_ were better than that."

He was staring at her again, like he had that day in her apartment, his brow furrowed with emotions Emily couldn't read. He didn't interrupt, and he didn't speak. He just looked at her. Emily couldn't stand that.

"Ever since I met you, Aaron," She said his name slowly, purposefully, "You've been this figure of..._goodness. _You..." Emily floundered, reaching for words that failed her. "Honesty. Fidelity, bravery, integrity. I know, that's stupid. And unfair. But that's who you are to me, who you have always been to me and I loved-"

Hotch's eyebrows shot up, his eyes lightening with something that was painfully like hope, and Emily's heart clenched, but she powered on.

"I have loved those things about you, Hotch. I've admired you for them. I'm not like you. It doesn't matter what the hell you put on my headstone, nobody lives up to those qualities like you do. _Especially _me. I can't be the one who takes that away from you." She was crying now, slow tears making their way down her cheeks. "Do you understand that, Hotch? You're smiling. Why are you smiling?"

He was smiling, his eyes creasing at the corners, his lips quirked, lopsidedly. "You think you've corrupted me, Emily?" He was advancing on her, and Emily wanted to tell him to stop, but instead, she stepped towards him, meeting him in the middle of Rossi's kitchen, tilting her head slightly so she could meet his eyes.

"Haven't I?"

He shook his head, a tiny, slow shake. "No. The exact opposite. You ground me. You make me better. You always have."

"I live in London, Hotch. That hasn't changed. And the last time I suggested long distance, you basically laughed in my face. And then there's Beth. And Isla."

Isla. The first time Hotch had heard talk of Isla, he'd been shocked, and, he hated himself for admitting it, a little aroused, by the idea of Emily being in a relationship with a woman. But, most of all, he had just been jealous. The sort of jealousy that burned with such intensity that it was all he could think about for days.

"So, this can't happen again," He agreed, nodding, "But that doesn't mean we can't be friends. Does it? Now that we've cleared up our communications error." Emily would have smiled, if that little communications error hadn't had her in turmoil for six months. She could see by the expression on Hotch's face, had heard the relief in his voice, and knew he had been feeling the same way. "We can go back to being friends, right?"

"Friends." She repeated, testing the word on her tongue.

"Friends." Hotch nodded. "We were friends once. We can get back to it. We're both mature adults. We live in different countries. This," His eyes flitted, just a moment, down her body, where the dress clung to her still damp skin, and Emily saw his throat move as he swallowed, thickly, "Can't happen again. And won't."

That was easier said than done, and Emily would have pointed it out if she didn't so desperately want him to be a part of her life. Six months she had spent pretending not to think about him, pretending she didn't care that he hadn't text her back, trying to forget about him and _them_ and everything in between. The ache between her legs told her that _friends_ was a bad idea, that it would be better for them to cut all ties, once and for all, and try to move on with their lives, but the ache in her chest made her agree.

"Okay. Friends."


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

The next morning, Emily woke up, alone, to the sunlight streaming, aggressively, through the blinds. Alone, empty and lonely. The symphony of emotions in her stomach, conducted by guilt, made her insides hurt and Emily rolled onto her side, tucking her legs up, clutching at the soft, warm duvet and curling into a ball. She couldn't face the day. Indeed, she was content to spend the rest of her life here, in Rossi's guest room, in the warmth, away from everyone. She would never have to face any of them. Rossi, who would be so disappointed in her. Hotch, who wanted so much that she couldn't give to him. JJ, who she couldn't stand to see look at her like a stranger. Her mother, who would feel so vindicated that Emily had screwed up yet again. Isla.

Isla. Who loved her. She had never said it, but Emily could read it in her eyes every time she caught the blonde gazing at her when she wasn't looking. The thought of Isla looking at her with disgust, with hatred. Shame burned inside of Emily's chest and a sudden urge overcame her.

She only just made it to the en-suite before she was sick.

* * *

Her phone was buzzing, somewhere. Emily couldn't find the energy to lift her head from her arm, where it rested over the toilet seat. Her stomach was empty now; she kept retching, but nothing more would come up. Her throat was sore, burnt by bile, hair stuck to her forehead. And the guilt was still there. The guilt was the only thing that hadn't left her stomach. It sat inside of her, heavy and relentless, reminding her. As though the marks on her skin, the bruises on her hips left by his fingers and the red welts his lips had left on her throat weren't enough of a reminder.

The buzzing wouldn't stop; someone was calling. Emily rose to her feet, unsteady now, and in desperate need of water, and found the offending phone wrapped up in the covers on the bed. JJ's picture lit up her screen.

"Hello?" She answered the phone, trying to sound bright and cheerful and failing miserably.

"God, you sound awful." JJ's voice was bright and cheerful without trying, and Emily rolled her eyes, resenting her friend for it. "Good job I brought you coffee, hm? Open the door."

"I love you." Was all Emily said before hanging up and throwing one of the robes she found in the wardrobe over the skimpy sports bra and boy shorts that she slept in. The shorts, she realised, with a pang, actually belong to Isla.

"You look like crap." JJ greeted her when Emily opened the door, and her words were only made worse by her seemingly effortless appearance. Her hair was up in a pony, bouncing behind her head. She had thrown on gym leggins and a tshirt, and a hoodie over it. There were sneakers on her feet and a child on her hip and she still looked more put together than Emily did. She was balancing Henry on one hip and holding a cup holder with two coffees in it with the other hand. She held the coffees out to Emily but, instead, Emily reached for the smiling little boy, whose was straining in his mother's arms, grinning a toothy grin at her, and stretching his arms towards her.

"Emmy!" He squealed as she took him in her arms.

"Hey, little man," She smiled at him, balancing him on her hip and turning back into the house. She heard the door close behind them, and the pad of JJ's sneakers across the wooden floor. "I've missed you." She pressed a kiss to Henry's temple and the two year old struggled in her arms.

"Oh, that's it." JJ commented, setting the coffees down. "You've had your cuddle, now he wants to go play."

Emily set Henry onto his feet, taking care to hold his hands, but he shook her off and walked confidently across to his mother, who was digging around in the bag she had brought for him. Marvelling at his confidence, it struck Emily that the last time she'd seen him, he'd still been a wobbly little toddler. Now, as JJ handed him a toy to play with, and a sippy cup full of what Emily assumed was apple juice, it appeared he was no longer wobbly, no longer little, and no longer toddling. She had missed a lot in six months, it seemed.

"He's gotten so big." She mused, leaning against the counter and taking one of the coffees from the holder.

"Oh, wait, one of them is decaf." JJ took the cup from her, twisting it around to read the side. "Yeah, see, this one's mine."

Emily raised her eyebrows as she took the other cup from the holder. "Decaf?" She acknowledged, with a question. "Since when?" Sipping at the coffee, she closed her eyes. JJ had been to their favourite cafe for them, and Emily had forgotten how much she missed a good _bad_ cup of coffee. She didn't miss the flash in JJ's eyes as she searched for an excuse, and Emily's own dark eyes narrowed. "Don't even try it, Jareau." She warned.

"Ugh, fine." JJ rolled her own eyed, baby blues turning towards the ceiling before flitting towards Henry, now sitting on the floor with his colouring pad and crayons. "We're officially trying for baby number two."

"You are?" Emily grinned, "Jayje, that's great!"

"Yeah, well, Henry wasn't planned but I'd like for him to have a little sibling. There was a huge age gap between me and Ros and I would like my kids to be closer than that, you know? Plus, I'm not getting any younger."

It hit Emily like a slap in the face, as she looked at Henry, at his crown of golden curls, and the clumsy way he held the crayons in his whole fist, other hand absently holding the green sippy cup to his mouth as he chewed on the nozzle, completely engrossed in the task of scribbling all over the black and white picture of an elephant in front of him. _Not getting any younger_. _We're trying_.

Two fears strangled Emily, simultaneously. She wasn't getting any younger, either. And she and Hotch hadn't used any protection. Suddenly, the need to vomit was back, and Emily turned and wretched into the sink.

* * *

Hotch had barely slept. He'd gone home and spent most of his evening pacing. He paced across the lounge, across the dining room, across his bedroom. He was still wearing his suit when, at five am, he had finally sat down on the sofa and fallen into an exhausted, tormented sleep. Anxiety dreams plagued him, anxieties interspersed with fantasies, with Emily's face, with images of her body, of her face. And then there was Beth, and the anxiety was back, threatening to eat him alive. He was dying, then waking. What woke him was the ringing of his doorbell and he stumbled to his feet, hair mussed behind his head, dark circles below his eyes.

He flung open the door before checking the peephole, something that was intensely out of character for the profiler, and was met with the smiling face of his girlfriend. As she took in his appearance, however, Beth's smile turned slowly into a frown.

"No run this morning, then?"

"What?" He asked, confusedly running a hand across his face and feeling stubble there that he needed to shave.

"We'd planned on going for a run, remember?" She gestured to her outfit; the active wear she had donned, and the sports cap on her head, ponytail pulled through the back. In her hand was a water bottle. Hotch didn't remember agreeing to a run at all.

"Sorry," He said, stepping back and gesturing for her to come inside. "Sorry, I just-" He just _what?_ _Sorry, I just slept with someone else last night. Sorry, I'm actually in love with another woman. Sorry-_"I won't take long to get ready. Please, have a seat."

He watches her glance around the apartment, brown eyes taking everything in. The photographs of Jack, the certificates from Jack's school that he has pinned to the fridge. When he steps into his bedroom, she's settling down onto the couch, palm brushing over a pillow Garcia once crocheted for him. He's still not sure what crocheting is, but it looked like it took a lot of time, and he'd appreciated it for that reason.

In his bedroom, Hotch stripped off the shirt. As he pulled it over his head, the smell of her, of _her_ perfume washed over him, accompanied by the scent of strawberries he knew belonged in her hair. He was glad Beth hadn't gotten any closer to him, and immediately disgusted with himself for the thought.

He should end it.

Pausing, Hotch caught himself in the mirror hanging in the en-suite. His hair was rumpled, his eyes tired, raw. His lip was split, just a tiny cut, either by Emily, or by himself in his sleep, Hotch couldn't remember. He had a choice to make, a decision. It would define him. Aaron had fought to be a good man, to do the right thing. To be different to his father. Now, as he looked at himself in the mirror, his father's face was the one he saw.

It took a beat, but something in Hotch's eyes changed. He wouldn't hurt Beth for a mistake he and Emily had made. That wasn't fair. She was going back to London; he never had to see her again. Beth was here, Beth wanted to be with him. Beautiful, funny Beth.

They had agreed. Friends. _Just friends._ Beth never needed to know.

* * *

JJ held her hair and rubbed her back soothingly, but, still, there was nothing but the few sips of coffee she'd had to come up. She was sweating again, her eyes unfocused. JJ soothed her, like she would Henry, with small _shush_ing noises and Emily shook her head.

"'M'okay." She muttered, reaching across the counter for the kitchen roll and wiping it across her mouth. Sitting on one of the stools, she pushed her hair back from her face, resting her chin on her hands, folded beneath it. JJ took the stool beside her, sitting with her back to the counter so she could talk and keep an eye on Henry at the same time. He didn't seem at all perplexed or disturbed by Emily's display.

"You sick?" JJ asked. Emily shook her head. "Pregnant?"

"No."

She answered far too quickly and JJ's eyebrows shot up her forehead. Emily sighed, dropping her head into her hands and rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I'm not pregnant, JJ." She said, more sternly. She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince. Sighing again, she lowered her hands, picking at her nails, and spoke more softly this time. "Or, at least, if I am pregnant, that's definitely not why I'm vomiting. I know I've never _been _pregnant, but symptoms don't usually show up the next day, right?"

Confusion, followed quickly by the dawning of realisation on JJ's face. "Oh, shit." She muttered, then cast a quick, guilty glance towards her son. Henry, however, was lying on the floor, preoccupied with his own toes, and not paying any attention to any profanity coming from his mothers mouth. "Oh, Em," JJ groaned, "What did you do?"

Emily recounted the story as swiftly as she could, mostly because she thought if she stopped, she would go mute; explaining what had happened to JJ was awful. The guilt in her chest had her convinced that JJ would hate her. She would pick Henry up and leave, not wanting her little boy to be around Emily a moment longer. Because Emily was a lot of things, a lot of _questionable _things. A smoker, absolutely. A drinker, for sure. A gambler, occasionally. Promiscuous? Sometimes. But a cheat? But JJ wasn't looking at her in disgust, there was no judgement in the blue eyes that held her own as she spoke. And, when she was finally finished, and she inhaled, deeply and shakily, JJ stood up and pulled Emily into a hug, wrapping her arms around her.

"Listen to me," JJ spoke into her ear, soft and quiet, as Emily closed her eyes and hugged her back, tightly. "You did a bad thing. You are _not_ a bad person. There's a difference. Now, you just have to make a choice."

* * *

JJ's words stuck with Emily, and for the rest of her time in London, she mulled them over and over and over in her head. They, she and Hotch, had made their choice. Friends. _Just friends_. She was going back to London and, all things considered, her mother's health allowing, she wouldn't be back in Washington any time soon. She wouldn't have to see him. There would be no...temptation.

"Emily, what time is your flight?" Her mother asked, as Emily packed the few items she had brought to the hospital into her bag. Elizabeth watched her from where she sat on the bed, straight-backed as ever, hair perfectly coiffed. She didn't look like someone who had recently suffered a heart attack. She was irritable, anxious to be out of the hospital and get back to work and, frankly, Emily was anxious to be away from her.

Emily checked the watch on her wrist, twisting her arm towards her, Emily responded. "Three hours. Can you drop me at the airport on your way to the estate?"

"It's in the complete opposite direction, but I suppose so." Emily rolled her eyes, thankful that her mother couldn't see.

"Thanks."

"How long are you going to stay in London for before you come home?"

Emily paused in the act of folding her mothers pyjamas, and turned around, furrowing her brow as Elizabeth looked at her. She had never taken an interest in Emily's life before; why now? "What? Since when do you care where I live? Since when is the US _home_? You moved us around so much when I was a kid, I didn't know what _home_ felt like, and now you want me to 'come home'?"

Elizabeth sighed, an exasperated expression on her face as she cast a glance heavenward and waved a hand in Emily's direction. "Oh, forget that I even asked. You're too old for me to have a say in your life anymore, I understand that. But you're a different person in London."

"You're right, mother," Emily snapped, shutting down the conversation, "You don't get a say."

The half an hour they waited for the car was spent in silence. Emily sat in the seat beside the window and scrolled through her phone, catching up on messages. There were a few from JJ, just checking in. She'd been doing that ever since the morning in Rossi's, and as much as Emily appreciated it, it also just made her feel even more guilty. There was one from Isla, telling her how much she had missed her and asking if Emily wanted her to come over when she got back, or if she was going to be too tired. Emily looked at the message a minute, before typing out her reply.

_I'm going to be exhausted and no fun. I'll see you tomorrow, though xx_

She clicked send, and hated herself for it, knowing she was only putting off the inevitable, and still hadn't decided what she was going to do. Just as she had text Isla back,her text tone chimed and Hotch's name popped up at the top of her screen. She clicked on it.

_Have a safe flight, Emily. Text me when you land so I know you're safe._

Simple, inoffensive. And the exact same words he had said the last time she'd left him and flown to London. She clicked off the message without replying, but it was still in her head when her mothers town car pulled out of the hospitals car park and, sighing, Emily turned to her mother.

"Were you and dad in love?" Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up and she regarded Emily with a curious expression, tilting her head slightly.

"That's a strange question, Emily-"

"I know." Emily closed her eyes, impatient for an answer. "I know, I just-were you?"

"For a time." Elizabeth nodded, slow and calculating. "For a time, before and after you. But your father had his affairs, as you know."

"And you never did?" Emily pushed. It was a question she had never asked her mother. Her father's infidelity had never been a secret, but Elizabeth had always kept her composure. Now, she shook her head, but slowly, then paused, sighing.

"Not...physically." She admitted, finally. "Emotionally, maybe. Definitely. But I never slept with anybody else while we were married."

"But you loved somebody else?" Emily prompted, surprised by the information. Elizabeth nodded.

"For a time. Yes. Before you were born."

"Do you regret it? If you were in love with somebody else, do you regret staying with dad? You built a life together, you were happy for a time. You had me." She shrugged, slightly, "But, if you could go back, if you could change it all and be with the other person? Someone inaccessible you couldn't stop thinking about? Would you do it?"

Elizabeth's eyes, a carbon copy of Emily's own, were narrowed, and thoughtful, like she was seeing her daughter for the first time. Emily wished she had never brought the conversation up, as Elizabeth's eyes scanned her, and Emily felt like she was eight years old again, her mother seeing right through her. It had been a long time since her mother had looked at her and really _seen_ her, and it made Emily uncomfortable. Eventually, she shook her head, curls waving around her sharp features.

"No." She admitted. "No, I wouldn't go back and change it." The car pulled to a stop and Elizabeth leaned over, kissing her daughters cheek. "Have a safe flight, darling. I'll see you soon."


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

Elizabeth's words weighed heavily on Emily's mind, as she watched land and sea disappear beneath her. The atlantic stretched on forever, but her flight was over so soon. By the time the plane had landed, Emily had all but made her decision. This time, she did cry on the plane. At least, though, the vomiting had stopped, although the guilt still sat heavily on her chest. Waiting inline at border control, Emily pulled out her phone.

_Just_ _landed._

She sent it to both of them, her finger hovering over Hotch's name a second before she clicked it. Her phone vibrated not a minute later.

_I'm glad_. That one was from him. Short, succinct. Exactly the kind of message a friend might send. Good.

Her phone was quiet after that, and Emily was relieved, which only brought on yet another surge of guilt. Exhausted by her flight and by her own emotions, she was relieved to climb into a cab and be on her way home. It was raining again. By now, though, Emily was used to it. The streets she passed were slowly becoming as familiar to her as Washington was but, as she sat in the back of the car and let the cabbie make his way through London in peace, she wasn't paying attention to any of it. Half of her consciousness seemed to have been left behind in Washington; she felt as though everything around her were a dream. It was cloudy both overhead, and in her mind.

She overpaid the cabbie, but waved him away when he tried to give her the change. He gratefully offered to carry her bags up for her, but she politely refused his help, insisting that she was fine. Maybe it was a form of punishment. It wasn't enough. Stepping into the spacious lift, Emily caught sight of herself in the mirror.

This Emily, the one staring back at her, looked exhausted. Her hair was lank from the rain, her cheeks pinched. Her eyes, though, were sallow and sunken, underlined by purple bruising beneath the skin; evidence of her many sleepless nights. It had been a long six months. A long couple of years, truthfully. Between the BAU, Doyle, Hotch...a long, arduous and difficult couple of years. Emily didn't see things getting any easier now that she had made the decision to end things with Isla.

With a relieved sigh, Emily slid the key into her lock and heard the familiar click as the door opened. Excited to collapse into her bed and ignore the world for twelve hours, Emily felt her stomach sink when a delicious scent met her, something aromatic and heavily spiced. The door swung inwards and there, leaning over her dining table in her silk robe and lighting several long stem candles, was Isla. Blonde curls spilled over her shoulder and, as she looked up, blue eyes meeting Emily's own and immediately breaking into a grin, Emily felt her stomach drop.

"Welcome home-" Isla's words were cut short by the sound of Emily's suitcase crashing to the floor, and then Emily's lips were pressed against hers. The front door stood wide open behind her, but Emily didn't care. She didn't give it so much as a second thought as she tore open Isla's robes, finding white lingerie beneath, the elaborate lace delicate and enticing against Isla's tanned skin. "_Emily-"_ Isla breathed, chest moving rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. "I've missed you, too, but I-I made dinner-"

"Yeah, it smells great," Emily muttered, in between the hard, wet kisses she was pressing to Isla's neck. Her desperate hands shoved the robe from Isla's shoulders, and the red silk pooled on the surface of her glass dining table like blood. Isla's head was thrown back, her throat jumping as she tried to speak. Emily didn't hear a word of it, lost in her worship of her girlfriends body. She had to show her, had to prove how much Isla meant. _She's not a rebound_.

"Slow down," Isla's words finally broke through to her, when Emily stopped to catch her breath, and the blonde's hands came up to gently hold Emily's face, cupping her cheeks and pressing a slow, soft kiss to her lips. "We've got all the time in the world, Em."

Standing up, Emily watched as Isla dropped the robe to the floor, before walking to the front door and closing it. She clicked the lock into place. Guilt and fear swirled like a cocktail in the brunette's stomach, watching her girlfriend move from the front door to the oven, where she turned it off, followed by the stove.

"Dinner can wait." Isla told her, with a small smile, offering her hand to Emily. She stared, at the narrow fingers extended towards her. Stared for a long time, before she smiled, and let Isla lead her to bed.

"I've missed you so much," Isla's soft hands slid beneath Emily's black sweater, the pads of her fingers playing at the hem of Emily's jeans, before she swept the sweater over her head in one smooth movement. "I know it's only been a week," She was saying, but Emily was only half listening, content to lose herself in the feel of Isla's hands on her as she cupped her breasts through the black bra she wore. "But it's rained the whole time, like even the sky knew how much I missed you."

"It always rains in London," Emily commented, capturing Isla's lips with her own as the blonde laughed. She leaned forwards, a gentle hand on Isla's shoulder forcing her to lie back onto the soft sheets. Crawling onto the bed, Emily fit one of her legs between Isla's, her knee pressing against Isla's core. The gasp Isla let out was all the encouragement Emily needed as she began to apply and reduce pressure in response to every little noise her girlfriend made.

"_God_, I missed you-" Isla said, not for the first time since Emily had walked through the door. Emily's eyes moved from her girlfriends body to her face, and found Isla looking up at her, a warm smile on her face, a look in her blue eyes that Emily recognised. A look that scared her, made her breath catch in her throat. She'd seen that expression in Hotch's eyes, that night in her apartment. A strangled sob escaped her and she watched Isla's expression change, concern clouding it, which only made Emily feel words.

The blonde reached for her and Emily moved away, backing up so quickly that her back smacked into the wall. Isla rushed towards her, as Emily slid down the wall, tears spilling over like they had on the plane.

"Emily?" Isla asked, hand stroking Emily's pale skin. "Emily, what is it? You can tell me."

Shaking her head, Emily tried to knock her hands away, but Isla pursed her lips, grabbing for Emily's hands. "Stop it." She said, sternly, "Stop trying to push me away. Whatever it is, I can help you. Just tell me, Em, and I'll do anything I can to make it better."

_Make it better._

Emily dropped her head onto her knees, shoulders shaking with the power of her sobs, wrists taut in Isla's hands as she fought the blonde's touch. Isla let her go, fearing she was going to hurt herself, and sat helplessly in front of her. A moment ago, she'd been grinding against her girlfriends leg, and now said girlfriend was sobbing in front of her. Having never seen Emily cry before, Isla deduced that something must be _very_ wrong.

When Emily finally looked up, her eyes were tired and resigned, and Isla saw her words there before she spoke them out loud.

"I slept with him."

She didn't need to elaborate who _he_ was, she knew. Isla had asked whether she needed to be threatened by Hotch. Emily never had answered her question. Now, though, Isla had her answer. She stared, and even Emily's profiling skills couldn't deduce how she was feeling, how she was processing. Emily expected yelling, expected a fight, but, instead, Isla looked down at the floor, nodded, then stood up.

Silently, she moved about the room, walking to the chair where she had folded up her clothes, and Emily said nothing. She watched Isla pull on jeans, then drag a t-shirt over her head, and said nothing. When Isla walked past her and straight out of the bedroom, Emily almost let her go, breathing a moment before shoving herself to her feet and following after her.

"Say something." She pleaded to Isla's back. The blonde didn't turn around as she packed things into her handbag.

"I'll come back for the rest of my things some other time." She said, shortly, before turning and heading for the door without so much as a glance in Emily's direction.

"_Please_." Emily's desperation stopped her in her tracks. "Please. Say something. Yell. Scream. Just...don't leave like _this_."

She didn't expect a response; she expected Isla to walk out of the door, out of her life, without so much as a look. But, as she watched, Isla's head fell backwards, and she heaved a sigh that made her shoulders shake. Turning, she met Emily with eyes full of grief, shaking her head slowly.

"You want me to yell and scream so that it makes you feel better, Emily." She said, flatly, "If I yell and scream, you get to yell and scream back, and then this turns into an argument that caused our break-up. That's not how this happened. You did this, Emily. _We_ didn't do this. I'm not going to stand here and validate what you did by arguing about it."

Emily stared, a chill passing over her as Isla regarded her with the eyes of a stranger. Then she turned and walked away, and Emily dropped her head in shame.

"I just-" Her voice came from the door, bitter and hurt, "I just wish you'd told me the truth. I wish I'd known you were in love with someone else."

When Emily looked up, Isla was gone.

* * *

It thundered that night. Emily knew she wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway, so instead she sat at her window, like she had so many times in those first few weeks in London, and watched the lightning crack over the Thames. Rain chased itself down her window. She wrapped her silk robe around her shoulders, to keep the chill away, but it didn't work, and Emily didn't have the energy to stand up and turn the heating on, so instead she shivered through the night.

Eventually, she must have fallen asleep, because when she awoke, it was to the obnoxiously loud sound of her phone vibrating against her hardwood floor. Turning her head, her neck twinged from the awkward angle she had fallen asleep. Eyes blurred by sleep, Emily didn't check the caller I.D, certain that it would be Isla calling, anyway.

"Hello?" Her voice was thick with sleep and she tilted her neck this way and that, trying to free the trapped nerve in her neck.

"Hi."

She stilled. His voice was a warmth that washed over her, and she immediately hated herself for it.

"Hotch. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He said, completely unconvincing, "Friends call friends, don't they?"

"Not usually at-" She took the phone from her ear, and her screen, offensively bright, flashed the time at her. "2am."

"I'm sorry." He paused on the other end of the line, and Emily lay her head back against the wall, just listening to his breathing until he spoke again. "We just got back from a case. It was a bad one. I needed to-" Again, silence, but only a beat this time, followed by a heavy sigh, "I wanted to hear your voice."

Closing her eyes, Emily sighed, breath steaming up the glass of her window as she leaned her forehead against it. Lightning cracked across the sky, followed swiftly by a loud rumble of thunder directly overhead. She wanted to tell him off, tell him that _friends_ didn't call _friends_ at two in the morning just to hear their voices, that he couldn't do this to her. The words wouldn't come.

"I'm here." She said, instead, unable to hurt another person she loved tonight. There was a noise of affirmation on the other end of the phone, somewhere between a sigh and a huff, and then more quiet. "I'm sorry you lost someone, today."

"Thanks." He said, from the other end, in a voice she knew so well. She could almost picture him, sitting at the desk in his office with an untouched glass of bourbon beside him, one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other rubbing his temples. In front of him, there would be a pile of paperwork, bigger than usual. It was always a bigger pile when there were more victims.

_I lost someone today, too._

She wanted to tell him, but knew, deep in her chest, that she couldn't inflict that guilt on him. Hotch would beat himself up, blame himself, when, truthfully, Emily knew this wasn't on him. They'd slept together, but she was the one who had hurt Isla, not him. When she'd pulled him in, Emily had made a choice. That was why she had made herself sick with guilt the next day. As soon as she'd set eyes on him, this was always how it was going to turn out.

But she couldn't say any of that to him. Because she'd seen it in his eyes, all of those months ago. He wanted her, wanted _them_. He wanted everything she could never give to him, especially now that she had hurt somebody so much in the name of loving him.

Hotch began to tell her about the case, and Emily nodded and reassured him, as silent tears raced down her face.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

Much as Emily was punishing herself for hurting Isla, over the next couple of months the universe seemed set on doing the same. Hotch tried to call often, and most of the time, she let it go to voicemail and blamed it on bad cell reception in London. His voice soothed her, his stories about Jack made her happy, and she didn't deserve that, so she ignored him most of the time. She still hadn't told him about Isla, so when he asked, she lied. She didn't tell JJ either; every time the blonde called, it was with more bad news about not being able to get pregnant. Her problems paled in comparison to JJ's. She could hear the heartbreak in her friends voice every time she phoned her to tell her _another_ pregnancy test had been negative.

"I mean-" She said, during one particularly long, emotional phonecall, "Do you think...we have a hard job. I've been thrown around a lot. I've been shot. And there was Afghanistan... Do you think there's something wrong because of all that?"

Emily wanted to offer her friend words of comfort, but she knew anything she said would be hollow and give her hope, and if there really was something wrong, then that wasn't fair. "I honestly don't know, Jayje," She said, curling her legs up beneath her on the sofa, "I'm not the person you should be asking about that. If you're really worried, I think the best advice I can give you is to go and see a specialist."

"Yeah, like I'm ever getting the time off to do that." The blonde commented, bitterly, from the other end of the phone. Emily said nothing, but gave JJ her moment of bitterness. They'd already spoken about Hotch's drill sergeant attitude.

"I blame you." The blonde said, with a short laugh. Emily laughed, too, though it was mostly put on. She didn't think the situation was all that funny, anymore.

"Why?" She asked, putting on an indignant tone.

"You had to go and move across the world and leave his miserable ass for us to deal with." JJ accused, lightheartedly. Her laughter died away and she sighed. "He misses you, you know?" And then, before Emily could reply, "We all do."

"Yeah, I know." Emily nodded. "I miss you all, too." _More than you know._

* * *

London without Isla was lonely. Emily was back to feeling like she had when she'd first moved here; lost and alone. Isla had been her lifeline, her guide, her social life. Without her, all that Emily had was work, and even that was in shambles.

In one week, she lost three agents. She was swamped with paperwork for weeks, not to mention the guilt and the grief. She hadn't given the order, but she had signed the papers, and suddenly, she found she didn't like her job very much anymore. At least, before Isla, she had been excited about her new role...had she? Honestly, it was so long ago that Emily couldn't remember, anymore. All of the rainy days had blurred into one, and her time in London had been distinctly separated into three chapters:_ Before Isla_, _Isla_ and _After Isla_. There was a very fine line drawn between each of them, and it seemed to Emily that the only time she had been happy in London was that time in the middle. _Isla._ That second chapter. And she had thrown it all away.

Before that, she couldn't remember when she was that happy.

In Virginia, definitely.

Then she remembered. That night in the bar, with her family. She'd been on painkillers, so not really drinking. JJ had ignored her requests of _no more drinks, _Spencer had spilled his glass of red wine all over the table and Morgan had gotten them all playing _Truth or Dare_. That was it. The last time she had been truly happy. That had been a good day; they had saved somebody that day. And then she had celebrated. With her family.

That, she remembered, was also the night Hotch had made his way up to her hotel room. His words had faded into oblivion, but Emily didn't think she would ever forget the way they had made her feel, the warmth that had radiated across her chest, from her heart, when he spoke so softly to her, so honestly. He'd laid his soul bare to her and, in return, she had up and moved a whole ocean away from him. Two broken hearts was enough; then Emily had gone and broken Isla's, too.

"You're really tallying them up," She told herself, in the mirror, as she brushed her teeth, aggressively. Spitting into the sink, Emily wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. She moved from the bathroom, and looked at her bed. Walking straight past it, she headed back out into the lounge. It was almost midnight, but she wasn't heading to bed. Instead, she switched on her brightest lamp, brewed herself a steaming cup of coffee and settled down with Rossi's latest novel.

Maybe the worst part of Isla being gone was that the nightmares had come back. It seemed that every time she closed her eyes, she saw _him_. Ian. He was here, in London, looking for her. He was in her apartment, waiting for her, wooden stake grasped firmly in his hand. Sometimes, the worst times of all, she saw him in Washington. She saw him hurt them. Derek, JJ, _Hotch. _All of them. And she was always too late. Emily couldn't count the number of times she'd seen her friends dead in her dreams, woken up in cold sweats because she couldn't face the tsunami of emotion, the fear and the devastation.

Sleep would always come for her, in the small hours of the morning, but it was better, she had learned, to put it off for a while. The later she fell asleep, the less she dreamed. If she fell asleep at three and woke from her nightmare at five, rather than trying to sleep again, she could get up and get ready for the day. The shadows beneath her eyes were only growing worse, but those she could hide with make-up. And, besides, nobody in London was looking at her that closely.

* * *

"My god, darling, you look like shit."

Her neck cracked as her head shot up, and Emily groaned, rubbing at the sore muscles there. She'd fallen asleep on the sofa again, curled around her book, and, just like every other time, she was paying for it.

"Clyde, what are you doing back?" She asked, unceremoniously, not bothering to stand up as he walked into her office and took up the chair opposite her. Glancing around, she could tell he was assessing the lack of personality she had put into decorating her office.

"Very...minimalist." He stated. "So, how are you getting on?"

Raising an eyebrow, Emily sat back in her chair, ignoring the twinge in her neck. "You came back just to check how I'm doing?"

"You know I care about you, darling, is it really such a surprise?" He asked. Emily only stared at him, eyebrow rising further up her forehead, and folded her arms across her chest. "Alright, alright, stop profiling me. This isn't working out."

Emily's jaw dropped. "I-_what?"_

"This. You. Here." He gestured vaguely around the room. "This. It's not working. You're miserable, darling, and everybody knows it, and nobody who's miserable does a good job. It's not your fault, it's just human nature."

"What?! I do a good job, Clyde." She responded, her voice high with indignation, "I am good at what I do. Is this-oh, god, is this about the three agents we lost last month?"

But he was shaking his head, waving his hands in front of her. "No, no, that was nobody's fault. They were casualties of the job; tragic, but we go into the job knowing it's a possibility. Devastating but, no, not your fault at all, Emily."

"Then, why?" She asked, shoulders dropping.

In response, Clyde gestured around the room. "Emily. Look around. Aside from the books I left behind and the files, you'd think this office was vacant. No personal touches, no pictures, nothing. Not even an umbrella in the stand, which seems very foolish in London. You're miserable here, darling, and it's so obvious. I didn't have to be a profiler to see it and neither, apparently, did your superiors, and you don't have very many of those in your position."

"I have personal effects!" Emily protested, defensively, opening the bottom drawer of her desk. "I keep tights in the office because it rains so damn much! They're personal effects!" She slammed the fabric down onto the desk, eyes darting about the room for anything else that would strengthen her argument. When she found nothing, her heart sank.

"Okay, well, what about your appearance?" Clyde raised his eyebrows. "You're one of the most gorgeous women I know, but right now, I wouldn't go near you. You look ill, darling. You look like you've not slept in a month, like you've not eaten in two, and you really must do something about your fringe, I can barely see your eyes."

"Oh, god," She fell back into her chair, slumping and draping her arms over the sides. "You're right." Then, she was laughing, because the entire situation was so ludicrous. "I moved halfway around the world, away from a job I love, and the people I love, for a job I hate, and a job I'm terrible at. Why did I do that, Clyde? I hate desk jobs." Then she raised a finger, pointing it accusingly at him. "Why did you _let_ me do that? You _know_ I hate desk jobs!"

"Don't try and blame me!" Clyde responded, indignantly, "You're the one who phoned me and said you _had to get away._ If you loved your job and your friends-slash-colleagues so much, then what were you running away from, darling? Hm? And put the tights away, you're embarrassing us both."

Emily rolled her eyes, but did as he said, slamming the drawer shut with a heeled foot. They sat in silence a moment, Emily slowly swinging from side to side on her swivel chair, the paperwork she had been doing when he walked in all but forgotten. The only sound was the squeak of the chair and the patter of rain on the huge window wall behind her.

"So," She finally asked, "What now?"

"Now," Clyde heaved a sigh that hefted and then dropped his shoulders, "Now, my sweet, you quit and you go home."

She tilted her head, her eyes softening. "Clyde, I'm sorry. You recommended me for the job, I-"

"And I stand by the recommendation." He stated. "You're terrible at the job, it's true, but most people are. The only person who wasn't was, well, me. You're not suited for sitting behind a desk all day and signing papers, Emily. You're more than that. So, no, I don't regret sticking my neck out for you. I'm quite relieved actually. It would have been terribly embarrassing if you were better at my job than I was."

She smiled, then, fondly. "Thank you, Clyde." She nodded, then repeated herself, earnestly. "Thank you."

It was as though he understood. Like he'd known. She was homesick. So, desperately unhappy and so terribly homesick. It was like he'd come to let her off the hook, to send her back to where she was happy. For the first time in months, she felt as though a weight had been lifted. For the first time in months, a genuine smile of happiness lit up her face. She had never been so happy to be fired. He smiled back at her, then, a rare and genuine smile she hadn't often seen on his smug face.

"You're welcome, darling."


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

The problem with no longer having a job...was that she no longer had a job. Emily had to stick a few weeks out at the office until Clyde could come back full time, but that was mostly paperwork, and half of the paperwork was about her resignation. There were a few meetings, but they didn't throw anything too taxing at her, knowing she was leaving, so by the time her end date came about, Emily was relieved to hand over the keys to the office to Clyde. But once that was done with, once she was unemployed, she found herself with nothing at all to do and much too much time on her hands. Her apartment had never been cleaner, so clean that she found she had very little _reason_ to clean it. She'd never spent so much time in the gym, resulting in the abs she'd always wanted _finally _peeking through; she was going to give JJ a run for her money. And she finally took the time to learn a few of Rossi's famous family recipes.

"You're finding a lot of time to cook, _caro_," He once commented, as she garbled down the phone about garlic quantities and was it spring onion or red onion she was supposed to pick up from the store?

"No more so than usual." She lied, squinting and scrunching up her nose as soon as the lie passed her lips. Never lie to a profiler. And never, _ever_ lie to David Rossi. "Hey, I just finished your new book-" She began, trying to distract him. Talking about himself usually worked, but not this time.

"Emilia." Rossi's tone wasn't quite a warning, but it told her firmly that he didn't believe her. He knew she was lying. "Is there something you're not telling us?"

Us. He always spoke of _us._ Emily knew none of her conversations with the team were private. Well, perhaps with the exception of JJ. Each little bit of news, she knew, was shared amongst them, probably discussed over the conference table, or on the jet, while whoever had replaced her sat there looking confused and was probably internally rolling their eyes. Emily knew perfectly well what that felt like; when she first started at the BAU, each time somebody mentioned Elle, she used to the internal eye-roll, too. It was the right of the new person to hate their predecessor, it was almost a law.

"How much cilantro was I supposed to put into the linguine?" She asked, dipping a spoon into the sauce and bringing it to her lips, cursing when the liquid burnt her tongue.

"Just enough that it enhances the flavour of the lemon. Not too much." Rossi's instructions were never very exact; he insisted that all of his recipes were family ones, and that nobody used exact measurements. Emily insisted that she didn't have Rossi's natural palette and ability to blindly add spices and come out with a perfect meal. She thought she had actually succeeded in distracting him, but David Rossi's mind was as sharp as ever, and she wasn't getting off the hook that easily. "Now are you going to tell me, or not?"

Emily sighed. "You're not dropping this, are you?" His silence on the other end of the line was enough confirmation for her. "Okay. Fine. I got fired. Oh, and Isla and I broke up."

"You what!?"

"Okay, that's not exactly true." Emily turned down the burner as she turned and folded her free arm across her chest, tucking her hand beneath her forearm. "Clyde turned up at the office a few weeks ago. He said he could tell it wasn't working out and that I should quit. He was right."

"So you just...quit?" Rossi, on the other end of the phone, was perplexed. She told him again, the same story in different words, omitting the part about her being miserable and doing an awful job because of it. He didn't need that burden on his conscience. "You're telling me you're living in London and you're unemployed?"

"I'm hardly down on my luck, Rossi." That much, at least, was true. Over the years, Emily's trust fund had barely decreased, since she had been working straight out of college. More so, it had been garnering interest. "I'm fine. I'm enjoying the time off, actually." It wasn't a_ total _lie. The cooking was great, the gym was great. She'd see more of London in the past few weeks than she had the whole time she'd been living here, what with all of the free time to go jogging or walk along the river. Hell, she'd even finally been up on the London Eye. "I'm having fun."

"You're not having fun, Emily. You're losing your mind. You're miserable and you're lonely. What are you doing, still living there, when you don't have a job or a girlfriend anymore? What is keeping you there?" He demanded, in a very fatherly tone that made Emily want to curl up with shame. "You know there's a job waiting here for you, and a family that misses you. So what are you waiting for? Get on a plane."

"Rossi, I can't just walk into the bullpen and demand my job back!" She laughed, shortly, "That's not how it works. Hotch isn't just going to fire whoever took over my job because I stomp my foot and click my fingers."

"He never replaced you."

Her wry smile faltered a moment, and she frowned. "What?"

"I said, he never replaced you, Emily. He never hired anybody else. Your job is waiting for you, if you want it."

_He never replaced you_. The words swam in Emily's brain. She hadn't for a minute thought she could just step right back into her life in Virginia; that was what she had tried to do last time, and that hadn't worked out very well for her. But knowing her job was waiting for her, her family was waiting for her...Emily's resolve faltered. _It won't be the same_. It never would be, ever again, she knew. She couldn't just step back into her old life.

"I-I can't." She stuttered. Just as she was trying to think of a way to explain to him why, there came a sudden burning smell. "Shit. Rossi, I have to go, my pasta's burning."

"Emily, think about it." Rossi was short but succinct before he hung up the phone.

The pasta was salvageable, but only just, and not five minutes later, Emily slid down her wall, a large bowl of the comfort food in her hands. It wasn't as good as Rossi's would have been, but it never was. She was always missing something. It wasn't raining tonight, but there was a soft mist over the Thames, giving it an ethereal sort of glow. Emily watched people wander along it's banks, making up stories for each of them in her head.

On the table, her phone buzzed. She ignored it. That couple, she mused, were probably newlyweds, talking about the amazing life they were going to have together. Her phone buzzed again. And that girl, walking with her arms wrapped around herself, had probably just been broken up with. _Buzz_. She glanced at the table, frowning with a mouth full of chicken, but didn't move. _Buzz_. _Buzz. Buzz._

"Damn it, Rossi." She scolded him, setting her bowl down on the floor and shoving herself to her feet. There was a barrage of messages.

There was Spencer's hopeful '_You quit your job? That means you're coming home, right?' _which tugged on her heartstrings and made her remember just how much she missed him. He was the one she hadn't seen in the longest; she wondered how long his hair had gotten.

Penelope's '_I can't believe it. Do you want me to check flight times for you?' _was equally as hopeful, though she had thrown in a little bit of cheek there, nudging Emily in the direction she wanted her to go.

Derek was simple, but inquisitive, '_Coming home, Princess? What happened with Isla?' _His question made her squirm. She was going to have to come up with a reason for that, because there was no way in hell she was going to tell any of them the truth. Not only because of how they'd look at her, but because of how they'd look at Hotch. JJ was the only person who could ever know that little secret.

Rossi wasn't even sorry for the shit storm he had caused. Instead, he seemed rather proud of himself, boldly admitting that '_I told the team. They're all very excited to have you back.'_ Yes, proud and overly-confident.

Hotch was hurt, which hurt her. His '_Why didn't you tell me?' _stared at her like an accusation.

And, finally, JJ's simple '_Call me.' _

Seeming like the least exhausting option, she pressed the green phone at the top of JJ's contact and listened to the ring. On the second one, JJ picked up.

"Hi, Em."

"Hi, Jayje, listen, I've not made any decisions yet about what I'm doing, I-"

"Em, can we talk about that later?" Emily was relieved, closing her eyes and exhaling, long and slow. She was so relieved, she missed the excited tone in JJ's voice.

"Yes, thank you. I didn't even mean for you guys to all find out, I was on the phone to Rossi and I-"

"_Emily_." JJ's voice was urgent, with a laugh behind her name. Emily paused. "I'm pregnant."

A beat of silence as JJ's words processed in her mind, then a beaming smile spread across Emily's face. "JJ, oh my god!" She said, beginning to pace across the apartment, suddenly full of excited energy and nothing to do with it. "Oh my god, congratulations! It's about time!"

"I know, I know! Thanks, Em," She could hear JJ's smile in her voice. Pressing a hand to her chest, over her heart, Emily felt her eyes well up. She wished she could see JJ in person, give her a hug, see the happiness she knew she would see in her best friend's eyes. "I just found out a few minutes ago and we wanted you to be the first to know. Well, there's that, and...Will's asked me to marry him, again."

"Oh?" Emily raised her eyebrows. Will had asked a few times and, each time, JJ had turned him down. Emily hadn't understood why, when they already had Henry, and seemed so blissfully happy. But JJ, she knew, had her reasons.

"I said yes."

Her tears flowed freely now, as Emily slid back down the wall, grinning from ear to ear. "Jen, I'm so, so happy for you guys." JJ could hear the tears in her friend's voice, and they made her own come hard and fast. Her throat stuck when she tried to talk, and she had to cough to clear it.

"I want you here for the wedding. But we wanted to do it soon. We just want something small, maybe at Rossi's. You'll come, won't you?" There was a desperation in JJ's voice, a fear that Emily would say no. It touched Emily's heart, and she knew JJ was thinking about the situation with Hotch. Emily was nodding.

"Em?"

"Jayje, _of course_ I will. I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

"Okay, good." JJ paused, and Emily could tell she was biting her lip when she next spoke, her words coming out playful and musical. "Because we wanna do it this weekend."

"You-what?" Emily sat up, checking her watch. "JJ, it's 7pm on Friday night. You want me to-" She sighed, "You've gotta get off the phone, I need to text Penelope and tell her to book me on a flight! God, you're a pain in my ass, Jennifer Jareau."

"Soon to be Jennifer Lamontagne."

"Ew, really?"

"Absolutely not." She laughed, heartily, and Emily could hear the glee, the relief, in her voice. "I love you, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You better hope there's a flight." Emily rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "I love you, too."


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

Emily made it to the wedding. Of course she did. She had told JJ she wouldn't miss it for the world; if she had to convince Clyde to let her commandeer an Interpol jet, she would have been there. Luckily, though, it didn't come to that. It was a little difficult to talk Penelope round when she answered her phone, because she was full of questions. It was only by promising to talk to her when she was in Virginia that Emily got her to calm down.

"You're coming home this weekend?" Penelope's voice was so high pitched that Emily was certain dogs were going to start barking any minute. "That's so _soon!"_

She couldn't tell her it was JJ's wedding; unlike Rossi, Emily wasn't in the habit of delivering other people's news to the group without their consent, and she wouldn't dream of taking that away from JJ. So she just said yes, and held the phone away from her ear as Penelope squealed.

"For a visit, Pen," She clarified, slowly. "For a visit."

"And Emily is better than no Emily," Her bubbly friend had insisted, before Emily heard the clicking of her keyboard, "Now let me see what I can do about this flight."

* * *

The Virginian sun beat down on the tarmac beneath her feet as Emily stepped from the stairs onto the runway. She pulled her sunglasses from her hair, settling them over her eyes, and smiled, tilting her face towards it's warmth.

"It's good to be back." She told it, quietly. The sun seemed to agree with her.

_Welcome_ _home_.

* * *

She had spoken out against it, but JJ had argued with her over picking her up from the airport, insisting that she _needed_ to see her as soon as possible, and it was the sort of argument that Emily simply knew she wasn't going to win. Stepping onto the escalator, she scanned the crowd at arrivals, trying to catch sight of her blonde friend. It wasn't until she was standing right in front of her, that Emily noticed.

She had been looking for a sign that said _Emily Prentiss. _The one JJ was holding said _My Maid of Honour._

Emily felt her throat close with emotion, as she looked from the sign, to JJ, whose face was half hidden by the cardboard. Her blue eyes were watery, and that was what finished Emily off. Passersby glanced at them as Emily pulled JJ into her arms for a hug, and then the two of them were sobbing. They drew attention, but neither of them cared, clinging to one another like it had been a decade since they'd last seen each other, and not just a couple of months.

"Is that a yes?" JJ asked, tearfully, as Emily finally released her. Emily nodded, unable to form words for the moment, as she wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. JJ laughed, pulling her in for another hug, and Emily clung to her, wondering how she'd ever been able to live without her best friend.

* * *

"So it's in Rossi's back garden. You know what he's like; he knows people, so we've got the whole flower arch situation, he's found us a minister, a band, caterers. He's basically taken care of it all for me." JJ filled her in, as she drove to the airport, swerving easily and confidently through traffic on the highway in her excited state. "Henry has the cutest little suit! Will took him shopping this morning and came back with it. I'm so relieved, I thought he was going to end up in jeans, because none of his smart clothes fit him anymore. He grows so quickly!"

"And what about you?" Emily asked, "What are you going to wear?"

"I'm surprising my mom," The grin on JJ's face was evident, even behind her enormous sunglasses, "I'm wearing her wedding dress. Penelope thinks it's a bad omen because my parents got divorced, but I still talked her into taking it in for me. I don't believe in that superstitious crap."

Emily couldn't help but smile as JJ spoke. She seemed to glow with light from within. Every sentence was punctuated with a smile, or a belt of laughter. The sun glinted off of the diamond ring on her finger, perfect and dainty, just like JJ herself. She was so happy, and for a moment, Emily was, too. Then she felt the twist in her chest. Jealousy. Turning her head, she stared out of her open window, letting the wind whip her hair around her face. She hated herself for it, because she was happy for JJ. So intensely, heart-shatteringly happy. And JJ deserved this, deserved to have her happy ending, with her beautiful little family. But it was also everything Emily had ever wanted, and everything it seemed she would now never have. She tried to take a deep breath, but the wind stole it from her chest. Rolling the window up, she breathed in deeply, once, twice, and then the beaming smile was back on her face as she listened to JJ chatter about her mother's beautiful wedding dress.

* * *

"Okay, so the ceremony is this evening at eight," JJ was saying, as Emily wheeled her suitcase into her hotel room. "But I think Will wants everyone there by seven at the latest, because he wants to do drinks and speeches and things first, so that after the ceremony it's just drinks and dancing."

"But no drinks for you," Emily smiled, sitting on the edge of her bed. JJ's hands dropped immediately to her stomach, though there was, as of yet, nothing there to show she was housing a new life.

"You're more than worth it, aren't you, little one?" She spoke, softly.

Emily knew what JJ had been through in Afghanistan; she knew about the baby she lost over there, how it had broken her, how, recently, JJ had worried that she wouldn't be able to get pregnant as a result of it. Seeing her smile softly down at her stomach, and croon to the baby that didn't even have ears yet, but already had it's mother's whole heart, made Emily's own heart ache.

"So, seven." JJ pointed at her, "I've gotta get to my hair appointment, but you'll be there for seven, right?"

"I'll be there even earlier." Emily promised, crossing her heart. JJ grinned at her, before blowing a kiss and turning to leave.

When she was gone, Emily sighed, falling back against the quilt. She glanced at her watch. 2pm. She was exhausted, having been on a seven hour flight since 4am. She stood up, resigning herself to taking a nap, and pulled her dress over her head, leaving her in her black slip. As she settled between the sheets, she sighed, and made a silent wish that there would be no dreams.

* * *

She didn't have time for dreams. The knock that came at her door was hard and authoritative, like someone stopping by to demand money from her. Emily frowned, throwing back the covers before making her way to the door. There was no peephole, so she cracked it open an inch, before swinging it the whole way. It hit the wall with a soft thud.

The last things she was expecting was for Hotch to show up at her hotel room. That being said, when the door swung open to reveal him on the other side, she was hardly surprised. She tilted her head to one side, heaving a great sigh, and he shrugged, without the words he needed to express himself. Then his hands were on her face, and his tongue was pushing it's way into her mouth and Emily was opening her mouth, and her arms, to wrap them around his neck. He kicked the hotel room door shut behind him and Emily stumbled backwards as he turned her to press her against the wall.

"Hotch," She breathed, as his rapid kisses moved from her mouth to her neck, "Hotch, we can't-" Her protest was weak, breathless, and she only half meant it, but he stopped. Hotch stepped back, his arms either side of her head on the wall, and hung his own head, breathing hard as he stared at the carpet. Trying to catch her breath, Emily put a hand on his shoulder, not to push him away, but as a sort of comfort. "It's okay," She said, breathing rapidly, her chest rising and falling with the motion. "It's okay."

"Emily." Her name on his lips was a warning, but Emily chose to hear the low growl as encouragement. She should stop. She knew that, but as her fingers pulled the material of her dress up, exposing the tops of her thighs to him, all rationality, all morality, disappeared. Hotch couldn't take his eyes off her, and the way he stared made her burn for him.

"You can't touch me." She told him. Her voice was quiet, soft, even, but firm. "You can't touch me," She repeated, as she sat down on the bed, and spread her legs for him. "But you can watch."


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

"Emily." It came out like plea; his voice louder, strained, even. A desperate question that fell from his lips with such longing, he was almost embarrassed. He should stand up. Stand up, and walk out. He didn't. He couldn't. Mostly because Hotch thought if he stood up, he wouldn't head to the door, but to the bed, where Emily was tracing a hand slowly up her thigh. And he wasn't allowed to touch. He shifted in his seat, trying to relieve the uncomfortable tightening of his slacks.

"I got over you," Emily said, from the bed, where her fingers were still trailing lazy circles up her own thigh. One of the straps of her slip had fallen down, and she didn't bother to fix it. Leaning back on one hand, the other continued it's gentle rotations higher and higher, the hem of her dress following it. Hotch's mouth was dry, as he watched, focused on the actions of her hand, wishing it was his own. "I got over you. I haven't thought about you in months. I used to think about you all time time, when I first moved to London. I thought about that night in my apartment, and the elevator, and the night in the hotel, the night in Rossi's. You were always there. Then you went away and now...now, I don't think about you." She paused, eyes locked on his. "But I _fantasise_ about you all of the time."

His dick practically jumped at the admission, and Hotch suppressed the low groan that wanted to project from his throat. He closed his eyes a moment, lips parted just slightly, but, much as he hated himself for it, Hotch didn't want to miss a second of this.

"Do you fantasise about me?" The hand disappeared from her leg and Hotch followed it up, as Emily rubbed her shoulder, leaning her long, slender neck to the side. He remembered the taste of her there, the feeling of leaving little red bruises there, of marking her as his. Emily seemed to be remembering it, too, as she grasped her own throat, running her hand up, and then down, where it drifted lazily across the swell of her breasts. Hotch couldn't speak. He watched her fingers, with their short nails, graze at the neckline of her slip, where her dress began, and hid the rest of her from his view. "Hm?" She prompted, lazily tracing the length of the lace, from the swell of her breast, to her cleavage, and back up again, raising goosebumps on her own skin. "Do you?"

"Yes." It came out as nothing more than a hoarse whisper, an admission of guilt and of longing. Hotch shifted in his seat again, his hard dick straining to be let free, begging to be touched. The satisfied smile that graced Emily's naturally red lips at his confession only made him harder. Fisting at the couch, Hotch breathed heavily through his nose as he watched her fingers move down, tracing a circle around where he knew her nipple to be. The silky fabric puckered, the shape of her nipples clear and evident and so inviting.

"Fucking tease." He swore, low and guttural, and Emily smiled, tongue ghosting over her teeth as she closed her eyes against the sensations she was giving herself.

"I don't mean to be," She lied, the innocent tone of her voice making him wild. Opening her eyes, looking at him through her lashes, Emily saw Hotch shift on the couch, pulling awkwardly at the crotch of his suit trousers. "You should make yourself more comfortable, Agent Hotchner."

That did it. Hotch wanted to march over to the bed, flip her over and slam into her without mercy. She would love that, it would make her scream. The thought of it made his mouth dry. Instead, Hotch stood up.

Emily watched with delicious pleasure, still lazily tracing circles around her nipples, as Hotch removed his blazer and tie, slinging them over the back of the sofa. The belt came next, and when he cracked it against the air, Emily's eyes widened and she felt the heat at her core intensify. He unbuttoned his trousers, but that was as far as Hotch got before he sat back down, slinging one arm over the back of the sofa, the other resting on his thigh, close to, but not touching, the hard outline in his trousers that she could clearly make out, even from across the room.

"These fantasies," Hotch cleared his throat, the hand at his thigh twitching towards his cock, content to play her little game for a while. "Tell me about them?"

Emily hummed her approval of Hotch getting into the swing of things, and palmed her breast through her slip, squeezing, watching Hotch's eyes darken, never leaving the motion of her hand. When his tongue came out to dart over his lips, she actually groaned. "I can show you." Her other hand, the hand behind her, resting on the bed sheets, moved, taking up the same actions from before, tracing circles, hearts, stars, on her thighs. Travelling higher and higher.

"I want you to talk." Hotch demanded, enthralled by the sight of her. She tilted her head back, long, dark hair falling down her back, and Hotch's eyes flitted between the hand massaging at her breasts and the one about to reveal her underwear to him. He rubbed himself, gently, through the material of his trousers. That felt good. "Tell me how these fantasies go."

He watched as her fingertips finally grazed the hollow between her thighs and her groin, and his eyes grew wide as Emily ghosted her fingers across the tiny strip of black lace that kept her hidden from him there, humming her own pleasure at the slow, sensual movement.

"They go lots of different ways." She admitted, now following the pattern of the lace of her thong, feeling the dampness there already. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back and letting herself enjoy the motion of her finger tips. The second strap of her slip had fallen and Emily made no move to fix it. Hotch was transfixed as the slip fell further and further down, knowing that any moment her perfect breasts, those that had filled his own dreams for months, would once again be his to marvel at. The silk fell slowly, catching on the peak of her nipple. Emily left it there, and Hotch wanted to swear at her again. _Fucking little tease_. "Sometimes we're back in my apartment. Sometimes we're on the jet. Sometimes we're..." She gasped, as her index finger grazed lightly over her bundle of nerves, the lace of her underwear only exacerbating the sensation. "In your office."

That made Hotch groan aloud, and the sound sent a gush of pleasure into Emily's underwear.

"I've had that dream," He said, and she was surprised at the admission; she hadn't had to pull this one from him. "I've had that dream, that fantasy, a thousand times over, Emily." He gripped himself through his trousers, his hand moving slowly up and down, and the pleasure of finally touching himself, as he watched her, was immense. "Even before."

"Tell me," She asked, breathlessly. She moved her body, a little sort of thrust forwards, and the silk fell away from her, leaving her chest bare to him. His mouth wasn't dry anymore; it watered as he stared at her breasts. Emily brought a hand up to pinch at her nipples, trailing a teasing finger around them first, before pulling harshly, making herself gasp. Hotch wanted to be the one making her gasp like that, so he did as she asked.

"I dream about you. I dream about that day in my office, what would have happened if JJ hadn't walked in," At the mention of the blonde, they both touched themselves a little harder, Emily pushing the pad of her finger against her clit, grinding the lace of her underwear against it, Hotch gripping at the base of his cock, slowly squeezing and releasing as he worked it towards the tip. "I think about that red shirt you were wearing, and how badly I wanted to rip it from your body. How badly I wanted to see you like this."

Hotch's hand stilled as he watched Emily's hand dip into her underwear, finally. She didn't move them to the side though, didn't give him the full view, but even from across the room, he could see the moisture there when she pulled her hand away again, running it up her torso to stimulate her nipples once more, leaving them glistening with her juices. "Keep going." It was almost a whine from her throat, and who was he to deny that voice?

"I think about bending you over my desk," He admitted, saying words he had never before said aloud. Emily's groan made his cock twitch and Aaron slipped the hand stroking in it into his boxers, watching as Emily finally moved her underwear to the side, giving him a beautiful view of her glistening core, wet with lust and anticipation and desire for him. "I think about tasting you." That wasn't where he had intended to go, but now that she was bare to him, her fingers spreading her lower lips to give him a better view, it was all he could think about. She looked delicious.

"We've never done that before," Emily lay back against the bed now, bringing one led up to rest her foot on the edge of it, exposing herself to him completely, giving herself better access, better angles to _feel_ it from.

Hotch found he couldn't respond when he watched Emily insert two fingers into herself. He watched them disappear, past the first knuckle, then the second, and he watched as she curled her fingers up, expertly finding the spot she new would bring her the most pleasure. The gratified gasp, followed by a satisfied sigh, made her breasts swell and fall in a way that Hotch couldn't take his eyes away from. He didn't know where to look, between her fingers as they disappeared inside of her, and her hard-tipped breasts, their rosy peaks desperate to be sucked. His cock was hot and hard in his hand, and Aaron began to work it faster now. Emily's fingers moved, starting up a steady rhythm, and Aaron stared, mimicking the rhythm of her fingers with the hand around his cock, remembering what it felt like to be buried in her warmth.

"Hotch," Her voice drew him back to the moment. He stood up, his cock standing out proudly from his body, and kicked off his jeans and boxers as he walked to where she lay on the bed. Emily's eyes widened a moment, and he knew she wouldn't object if he wanted to fuck her, but that wasn't what he was doing. He just wanted a better view. Her eyes fell hungrily onto his exposed member, and he was sure he heard the squelch of her fingers speeding up. He moved between her legs, grasping himself in his hand once more, and Emily licked her lips, hungrily, as she watched him pleasure himself over the sight of her.

"Hotch," It wasn't a request, or a gasp, but encouragement. He loved to hear his name on her tongue, especially in the breathless and desperate way she said it now, and Emily knew it. She spread her legs wider, giving him an even better view. He wanted to reach down, run his hand up the flat pane of her stomach, trace her scars with his tongue, feel the weight of her breasts in his hand, the heat of her core on his palm. Every thought has his hand working faster over his cock. Precum formed at the end, leaking out of him, and he watched as it dripped from the end of his member, landing on Emily's stomach and trailing down the definition of her abs, until it pooled in her belly button. When he looked back up at her face, Emily was biting her tongue, her eyes dark, as her fingers moved rapidly inside her body. She was straining, he could tell, desperately chasing her release.

"Emily?" The question in his voice this time was desperate. Her lips were red where she was biting so hard, her breasts bare to him, neglected, as she fisted at the bed sheets, so desperate to find her own pleasure. "Emily?"

"Yes, Hotch, please," he didn't need asking twice and as he lined himself up with her entrance, he felt Emily's heels dig into his ass. He knew what she wanted and he wasted no time, thrusting hard into her body. She jolted up the bed at the impact, eyes rolling immediately back in her head at the perfect pleasure of Hotch filling her up.

"Oh, fuck." Her hand released the sheets of the bed, both coming up to rest above her head as she let him use her body, loving every second of it, lavishing over the hard pressure of him inside her body, and the delicious way her walls burned to stretch to accommodate him. Hotch fucked her. He didn't make love to her, not this time. It was hard and fast and rough and Hotch could tell Emily was loving every minute of it, as her eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth opened in a silent oh. Every time he rutted up against her cervix, every time he jolted her body up the bed, so much so that he ended up kneeling fully on the mattress, she moaned, low in her throat. Her eyes closed, thighs tight around him like a vice, and Hotch knew it didn't matter that it was him, in that moment, Emily was just enjoying being used. That made him work harder for it: he wanted her to be glad it was him.

He grabbed her shoulders, using them as leverage to pound into her harder and faster. Emily's eyes popped open at this new development, as her breasts bounced and her insides gripped at Hotch. She tried to speak, the words catching in her throat.

"Ho-" she groaned, legs falling weakly away from his back as Hotch continued his relentless rhythm. He was sweating, hair falling into his eyes, but the way Emily's eyes unfocused as her pleasure mounted, he didn't care.

"Fuck, Em, you're so tight," He crouched low over her, his breath hot against her ear, as her walls clamped tight around him, thrusting shallowly as Emily's orgasm hit her. Her back arched up off of the bed, pressing her tits against him, veins in her neck straining as the pleasure coursed its way through her body. The sight of her like that proved too much for Hotch and he came with a long, growling keen in her ear. The feeling of him inside of her, of his seed soaking her walls, encouraged Emily's orgasm, riding her through it. She wrapped her arms around Hotch's damp back, his shirt sticking to his chest as he continued to thrust slowly, the last drops of his pleasure leaking into her, his cock slowly growing soft inside of her. He stopped moving, dropping his weight onto her, and Emily held him there, running one hand up and down his back, over his shirt, and smoothing the other gently through his hair, soothing him back to earth.

Hotch moved first, and Emily missed the weight of him immediately, watching as he unbuttoned and discarded his shirt, until she felt the bed dip, then rise as he knelt down between her legs.

"What are yo-" Her words caught in her throat as Hotch leaned in towards her and licked her, in one smooth motion, from bottom to top. "Ohhh, yes." She moaned, long and blissful, eyes falling shut at the contact. She was still sensitive from the intensity of her orgasm, but Hotch moved slowly, gently, soothingly.

Her hips rose to meet him, but Hotch smiled, tongue still pressed against her wet centre, and lifted a hand to press on her abdomen, pushing her back down onto the bed. She fought him a moment, before letting him push her down into the soft mattress, holding her there while his tongue continued it's machinations.

"You taste so good, Em," His praise made her mewl, and as he taunted her with gentle, sweeping licks across her folds, she grew wetter, and more frustrated.

"Hotch." Overly sensitive and weak from her orgasm, she was pleading with him. He felt himself begin to grow hard again as her voice went straight to his groin, the sound of her whines urging him onwards. She was writhing beneath him, chasing after her own pleasure and Hotch was through playing with her. When his lips found her clit, and sucked gently, Emily's back arched up off of the bed, hands gripping at the sheets beneath her, and she made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, unable to voice her pleasure. He lapped at her, tasting both of them on his tongue, as he moved the hand on her stomach down, teasing her with his fingers as he sucked on her clit. Inserting his fingers was easy; she was so wet, she took the first two easily, so he added a third. Their juices mingled, seeping out of her as he began to pump his fingers, curling them inside of her, mimicking her own actions from earlier. She was breathless above him, a one of her hands moving from the sheets to tangle in his hair, pressing her against him, all but suffocating him against her.

Hotch was drunk on her. On the scent of her, the taste, the sound as her orgasm build. His tongue moved madly, obscene, wet noises filling the room, accompanied by Emily's little noises of pleasure. All of it together was driving him insane and he had to keep from reaching between his own legs and tugging at himself. He was working to get her off, and he could tell by the way Emily fell almost silent that she was close.

"Oh, come for me, sweetheart," He spoke into her sex, and the vibrations against her clit sending her swiftly over the edge. Hotch maintained the speed of his hand and tongue as she fell apart, juices coating his mouth and jaw, unholy sounds filling the hotel room. She convulsed above and around him, pleasure making her shake, the hand in his hair gripping so tightly it hurt.

Hotch didn't even wait for her to come down from her high before he crawled up between her legs. She was still shaking when he entered her, groaning at the slick warmth he found there, feeling like he was, finally, home. She reached for him, dragging him down to kiss her as he began moving his hips. She whimpered beneath him and he slowed, dragging himself out of her at an excruciatingly slow pace, before driving back, strong, slow and steady.

"Fuck, I love you." He breathed against her lips, so close his own brushed against hers as he spoke. She gasped, breathing into his mouth, as he brushed against a sensitive spot, and her eyes closed, involuntarily, head tilting back, exposing her neck to him. He latched on, sucking kisses down across the creamy expanse of skin before him. "I love you, Emily." He repeated, as he thrust into her with determination, feeling his own release close on the horizon.

She was dying. She had to be. Nobody could feel this good and not be dying. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she encouraged him, but Hotch maintained the agonising slow pace, letting her feel every contour of him as he invaded her body in the best way. His words made her heart clench, and her walls grip him tighter.

"I love you." She told him. He paused, buried deep inside of her, and lifted his head to meet her eyes. Her own were glassy with tears, but she nodded at him. "I love you, Aaron." She dragged him up to her, kissing him, long and deep, tongue tasting herself on his kiss-swollen lips. "I love you so much." She was crying now, sobbing, and clung to him as he began to drive them both towards their peak. It wasn't a race this time. Lips still pressed to hers, tongues locked together, Hotch swallowed her scream as Emily came, walls clutching him so tightly, sucking him in deeper, and then he was coming, deep inside of her, marking her as his own. "I love you." She sobbed against his lips, in between kisses, and Hotch lifted a hand, brushing damp hair back from her forehead as his lips moved from hers, showering her face with quick, soft kisses. Her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, her forehead. Anywhere he could reach, he kissed. When his lips found hers again, their kiss was slow, soft.

"Stay."

Emily opened her eyes, looking at him, hovering over her, hair flopping down into those brown eyes that had always been able to see right through her. They were sad, earnest, scared. "Emily, stay with me."

She stared, lips slightly parted. A tear leaked from her eye, fell down the side of her face, settled in her dark hair. She shook her head. "I can't."

It came out as a whisper, and Emily watched as Hotch's heart broke, the fear in his eyes realised. He pushed himself off of her, sitting to the side. For a minute, Emily couldn't move, she felt the loss of him so deeply. Then she sat up, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her searched for the words she needed to explain. "I don't deserve you, Hotch."

He looked at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

She was holding back tears now, tears of a whole different kind, knowing that if she let it, the dam would break and she'd be a gasping mess, unable to say everything she needed to. "Don't you see? I broke Isla's heart because I love you. I love you so much that I hurt somebody. I don't deserve to be happy with you, after doing that." She shook her head, "I don't deserve you. You deserve better than me."

"Emily-" He moved quickly, kneeling on the floor in front of her, his hands finding hers. Emily dropped her knees, dress falling back into place to cover her modesty as he knelt, naked, before her. "I love you." He squeezed her hands, as though his words weren't enough. "You do deserve to be happy."

Still, Emily was shaking her head, unable to meet his eyes. She inhaled, sharply, through the tears. "I hurt her..."

"I hurt Beth." Hotch admitted, the guilt and hurt evident in his one, "I hurt her, too. We've both done wrong, Em. We've both made mistakes. But, would Isla want you to be miserable for the rest of your life because you made a mistake? I don't believe that. And I don't believe Beth would, either."

She looked up, meeting his eyes, and all he saw there was defeat. How had she gone from being so happy, so elated, so blissful, only a few moments before, to this shell of a woman in front of him? Hotch pulled her towards him, catching her on his lap as she slid from the bed, and held her tight against him, as the sobs wracked her body. There was more, he knew, to this, than what had happened with Isla.

"I see him-" She sobbed, "Ian. I see him, all of the time. He's in my head, in my dreams. I can't get away from him. The only time I don't see him is-" She hiccuped, tears stealing away her breath, "Is when I'm with you. He's my punishment. For everything."

He cradled her against his chest, rocking back and forth as she cried. There was nothing for him to say; he knew there were no words to take away her guilt, nothing he could say to convince her that the nightmares weren't a punishment. So he didn't say anything, he just held her. Held her until the tears stopped, and she finally stood up and moved away from him.

"I have to get ready." She said, gesturing vaguely towards the door. He stared at her, but she couldn't meet his eyes. Neither of them spoke as Hotch gathered his clothes and dressed quickly and quietly. Before leaving, he crossed he room, standing in front of her, sliding one large hand into her hair. Emily closed her eyes, leaning her face into his hand, as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I'll see you at the wedding." He said, softly. "Think about what I said."

Her skin was warm from his touch, and Emily nodded, as he walked from the room. "I will."


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Fourty**

After he left, Emily headed straight into the bathroom and into the shower, partly because she needed to wash the smell of him off her body before she saw the team and partly so that she could finish crying in peace, and let the water wash away her tears as swiftly as they fell. The shower was rejuvenating, and, twenty-minutes later, when she finally stepped out of it, the only reminders that Hotch had been there at all were the slow ache between her legs and the bruises he'd left on her neck. Those, she thought, as she craned her neck to the side to see them in the mirror, would have to be covered with make-up. Rolling her eyes, she silently cursed him in her head, although her lips turned up in a tiny smirk.

* * *

Emily broke her promise to JJ. She was late.

As she stepped into Rossi's house, a feeling of _home_ washing over her instantly, the blonde turned and a look of relief spread across her face.

"Emily!" She scolded, scooping up the skirt of her dress as she made her way across Rossi's kitchen. "You told me you'd be here early! Will and I were late, too, did you get caught up in all of the traffic?" She frowned, not even waiting for Emily's response, though Emily was grateful for that because, much as she was going to, it meant she didn't have to lie and say yes. "Supposedly there was a huge pile-up on the highway. We had to take the long way round, and then we got stuck at every red light. Is that, uh- what's that on your neck?"

"Jayje-" Emily cut her off, holding her hands up in front of her, palms facing JJ. "Calm. You need to breathe." She smiled as the blonde stopped talking, "You look beautiful, Jayje."

JJ smiled, letting out a relieved sigh, but, as soon as the smile had appeared, it was gone, sheer panic taking control of her facial features. Her brow furrowed, her lips pursing, as though she was trying not to cry. "Hey, hey" Emily took tight hold of her hand, pulling her to sit on the stairs. "Talk to me."

"I just-" JJ shook her head, the few loose curls left out of her up-do swaying softly around her angelic face. "What if I'm not cut out for marriage, Em? My mum and dad, they got divorced. I've always run away from this stuff, you know. And Will and I, we're great. We have Henry and-" Her hand dropped to the flat pane of her stomach. She stared at Emily, and Emily saw the fear growing in her periwinkle blue eyes. When she spoke, her voice came out in a terrified whisper. "I have..._everything_ I ever wanted, Emily. Everything. How does one person get to be as happy as I am? There has to be a catch, right? I keep waiting for it all to catch up with me, waiting for the world to stop spinning beneath my feet and for everything to come crashing down."

Emily was shaking her head, JJ's words hitting her square in the chest. "You can't do that to yourself." She said, firmly, fighting the thickness of tears in her throat. "If you spend your life that way, you'll drive yourself crazy, Jayje. You've got to...find a way to make peace with the way things are, and enjoy them while you can. Because we know better than most that this sort of happiness doesn't happen to everybody." Even as she spoke, Emily was well aware of the irony of her words, well aware that JJ was voicing every fear she'd not been able to admit to.

"That's what I'm saying, Emily," JJ insisted, grabbing for Emily's hands and holding them tightly in her own. "What if my times running out?"

Emily didn't have the words to reassure JJ; they'd spent too long doing their jobs for her to lie and say everything would be okay. There was no guarantee, and both agents knew it. So, instead, Emily shook her head.

"I guess you won't know until the time comes," She told her, softly, standing up and pulling JJ to her feet. She set about straightening the few blonde curls that had come loose, and swept a thumb gently beneath each of JJ's eyes, to rid her of the mascara that had begun to pool there. "But, right now, there's a man who loves you waiting for you at the end of that aisle. And, if your time is running out, he's the one you want to spend it with, right?"

They both turned as a slow chord began, a lone violin, signalling the start of the wedding march. There was still panic in JJ's eyes as she walked into the kitchen and Emily followed. On the counter, there were two bouquets of white lilies and tiny, pink roses. JJ picked one up and handed it to her.

"You look beautiful, Em." The blonde smiled, and Emily could see her bottom lip shake with the effort.

"I'm sure I'm supposed to say that to you-" Emily retorted, with a grin, before she heard the rest of the band strike up softly and knew it was her cue. "Jayje, you're the most beautiful bride. I love you, so much, and I'm so proud of you!" She said, hurriedly, gripping JJ's hand tightly . JJ smiled, now, and straightened her shoulders, standing up proudly, and Emily knew she had said the right thing. All JJ had needed, all JJ had wanted, was her blessing. With one last squeeze of her hand, JJ ushered her towards the patio doors.

They were thrown open, adorned with large white organza sashes. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting a deep orange-pink hue over the garden. What seemed like hundreds of candles flickered in the breeze, and delicate petals lined the white carpet that showed her the way to the altar, tiny white lights hung between the trees, guiding her way.

Emily had never walked down an aisle before. She'd never had cousins or friends who'd asked her to be a bridesmaid, and she'd certainly never been anybody's Maid of Honour before today. All she could think, as she began the descent down towards the flowered arch, in her floor length black gown, was that she desperately didn't want to trip in front of all of these people. Morgan, in particular, would never let her live it down.

She caught Penelope's eyes as she reached the bottom step, the blonde giving her a little wave and a huge smile. Emily smiled back, lifting her chin and holding her head high as she began the walk. Spencer, too, looked excited to see her, waving, just as Penelope had. Giving them a tiny wave back, Emily felt her heart constrict when she realised how much she had missed _this_, _them_, all together. At the top of the aisle, standing with Will, was Rossi. _Of course_. She wondered if JJ knew about that little surprise. Then everybody's eyes shifted to behind her, and she knew JJ had appeared in the doorway.

Emily felt more at ease now that everyone was looking at JJ, and she felt her shoulders relax a little. Casting a glance around, she reassured herself that everyone was looking to the blonde. Until her eyes found Hotch.

_Oh._ He wasn't looking at JJ.

He was staring right at _her_, a dopey, stupid smile on his handsome face that instinctively made Emily smile, too. She felt her lips curve, until she was smiling at him with her whole face, eyes crinkling, a wide grin that flashed her teeth stretching her lips. He smiled brighter, then, because he'd made her smile. And then they were both grinning, like two idiots in love, like they were the only two people there.

It was one moment, barely a moment, but it was the moment that Emily knew.

She tried to listen intently to the vows that JJ and Will exchanged, but she was all too aware of Hotch, whose eyes never left her for a moment. She wanted to catch his eyes, wanted to let him know, but standing at the front of the congregation, she simply couldn't without giving them both away and drawing attention from the couple, so she let that lingering smile play about her lips as she watched JJ and Will, and hoped Aaron knew it was for him.

"Do you, William Lamontagne Jr, take Jennifer Joy Jareau to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickess and in health, for as long as you both shall live?" Emily heard Rossi asked and, though he stood with his back to her, Emily heard the smile on Will's face as he spoke.

"You bet I do!" He said, in that southern twang. There was a muttering of good-natured laughter from the congregation, including JJ, who swept a hand under her eyes, brushing away unshed tears.

"Yeah, you'd better." Rossi joked, to more laughter. "And do you, Jennifer Joy Jareau, _la mia bellissima farfalla_, take William Lamontagne Jr to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

JJ's eyes flickered, for just a second, but Emily caught it. They landed on hers, and Emily smiled, giving her the most minute of nods. When JJ spoke, her voice was solid, full of emotion, but strong and certain.

"I do."

Rossi's eyes were warm as he smiled at them. "Then, by the power vested in me, by the state of Virginia, I now pronounce you, husband and wife."

* * *

It was one of the most relaxed and beautiful weddings Emily had ever been to. As soon as the ceremony was over, she found herself swept into hugs by the team. Derek nearly crushed her ribs with the squeeze he gave her and Spencer immediately started babbling about the newest season of the series they'd been watching together before she left. Penelope was throwing compliments at her whilst simultaneously chastising her for not telling them about the break up.

Hotch, she noticed, kept his distance. Instead of making a beeline for her, as the others had, she noticed him making his way towards the newly wedded couple, presumably to offer his congratulations.

"She's right, princess," Morgan commented, with a frown on his handsome face, "How come you didn't tell us about your break up from Isla?"

Emily heaved a sigh. She'd known this was going to happen, and she probably deserved, karmically, to have to answer for herself, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable. She looked from one face, to another, to another, helplessly.

"Isla was great," she told them, honestly, "But...I just, it wasn't right. There was someone else." She caught Rossi smiling at her from across the temporary dance floor that had been put into place and was grateful for a reason to disentangle herself from her friends, before they insisted on asking more questions that she knew she couldn't answer right now.

Rossi had headed straight for the bar, and as she reached his side, he handed her a short glass. When she raised her eyebrows, he gestured to it.

"Scotch on the rocks," he explained, "I thought you might need some liquid courage, tonight."

Emily raised an eyebrow at him, but Rossi wasn't looking at her, but out at the crowd of people, most of whom had gathered around the bride and groom to congratulate them. "Oh? I didn't realise ministers were allowed to drink." She teased, with a smirk, "And what do you think I need courage for?"

"The decision you're going to make. To move back home and come back to the BAU, where you belong."

"David Rossi, you never fail to amaze me." Emily told him, as she sipped at her drink. "God, that's smooth."

"You know I only have the best." He lifted his glass, and Emily smiled, clinking her own against it. "So, you admit it? You want to come home?"

Emily hesitated a moment, searching for the right words. "I'm...considering it." Truthfully, Rossi was right; her mind was made up. She wanted to come home, but knew that, in order for that to happen, there was something other than her job that she needed.

She scanned the crowd for Hotch, found him sitting at the other side of the dance floor with Morgan and Anderson. He was laughing at something one of them had said, and the corner of Emily's mouth twitched upwards. Beside her, Rossi was looking at her.

"You've got no idea how much he's missed you." He said, simply.

Turning, she saw the depth of emotion in the older man's eye. He, who had been like a father to each of them in different ways, held a special place for Aaron in his heart, and Emily knew it. She also knew, at the risk of sounding self-important, that he kept a special place for her inside there, too. Rossi, she knew, was more invested in them than any of the others would be. So, for just a moment, she let down her walls.

"I'm scared." She whispered, and all of the feeling's she'd seen earlier in JJ's eyes came rushing into her chest.

"_Cara,_ if you aren't scared, you're not living." He told her, his eyes seeming to twinkle in that fatherly way, under the canopy of fairy lights. "But, for what it's worth, I don't think you have to be scared of this. I think you've both been through a lot: maybe the universe owes you both this one."

Emily narrowed her eyes, raising an eyebrow at him. "You don't believe in that sort of thing."

Rossi laughed at her scepticism. "Maybe, in my old age, I'm becoming more of a believer." He shrugged, genially, "Or, maybe, I'm just saying whatever I can to get you over there, talking to him. You know you're going to have to, and you know that you want to, so, what's stopping you?"

"Oh, I'm just drinking my liquid courage," She joked, and Rossi chuckled into his own drink, before tossing back the last of her scotch. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need it." Rossi's voice was low, but even as she walked away, Emily caught it. She made her way across the dance floor, holding her long skirt so that it didn't brush across the ground, and headed straight for the boys.

"Hey, guys," She smiled, as they looked up at her.

"Emily!" Anderson grinned at her, "Welcome back!"

"Yeah, I'm not really back," She waved his comment off with a smile, "But thanks, it's good to see you! Hotch, can I, uh, talk to you?"

"Sure." He looked at her, a smirk playing about his lips, a mischievous glint in his eye, and made no sign of moving as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips.

"In private." She rolled her eyes at him, knowing he was doing this on purpose, teasing her. At her words, though, he got to his feet, straightening his trouser legs. She made to walk away, to lead them both towards the more secluded area of the garden where they wouldn't be overheard, but he caught her waist just as the band struck up a chord.

"We can talk privately, right here, Em." He said, into her ear, as he pulled her close to him.

"Do you really want to have this discussion in public?" She asked, her breath tickling his neck as she spoke. He leaned away from her, dark eyes catching hers, looking at her, pointedly.

"Emily, I don't want to be alone with you, right now."

_Oh_.

She felt her cheeks burn, and felt that involuntary smile that kept creeping onto her face reappear. Shaking her head, Emily ducked her face, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her blush. "Right." She gave a short laugh, "Okay. Luckily, I have more self control than you do-"

Hotch laughed, this time, in response, his hand sliding from high on her back to the small of her back. "Right. Blowjob in an SUV?"

"Aaron - _shut up_-" She swatted his arm, laughter bubbling in her chest, and then, they were both laughing. Heartily, comfortably. Like two people who had never been apart. Like two people who had spent years and years falling into a comfortable and relaxed step with one another. She felt at home in his arms, and he held her like she was his. Anybody observing them, who didn't know better, might assume they had been in love for years, and they wouldn't be wrong. That was the moment she knew that none of the rest of it mattered. All of her fancy words and speeches, and every excuse she had been ready to give, it was all just that; excuses. For the longest time, she had denied herself happiness, had lived in her head, shut people out. The BAU had changed all of that. _He_ had changed all of that. No more excuses.

"Yes." Emily said, when she finally stopped laughing. Hotch was still chuckling, so didn't register it at first. Emily pulled them to a halt. People had joined them on the dance floor, but she couldn't see any of them. Only him. He didn't seem to have registered what she said, so she repeated herself. "Yes."

"Yes?" He asked her, smiling. She said nothing, but met his eyes. His were still smiling, but hers were serious. His brow furrowed, but the grin remained on his lips. Then, she watched the realisation dawn as all of the tension fell from his forehead and his smile slid from his face.

She nodded. "Yes."

Emily moved her hands, running them up his arms, feeling his muscles beneath his suit, and stepped in closer to him. "I want to stay. And..." She paused, testing the weight of the words about to come out of her mouth, recognising their ability to change everything. She was about to serve her heart to him on a plate, and it was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. "I want you. And Jack. I want us."

All thoughts fell out of Emily's head as he kissed her, mouth covering hers in a kiss that said more than his words ever could. And Emily didn't care. She didn't care that they were in public, surrounded by their friends, and colleagues. She didn't care that, technically, she still lived on a different continent. She didn't care that they'd never even been on a date. Nothing about her life had ever been conventional. She had moved more times than she could count, lost her father, made and then lost friends in the blink of an eye. She had fallen in love, not often, but so deeply, to tragic ends each time. But, for once, finally, for perhaps the first time in her adult life, she felt like she had her feet on solid ground.

* * *

There were no crude remarks from Morgan, although he did glance pointedly at the hickey on Emily's neck once or twice, but she shot him a playful warning look and he backed off with a grin. There were no quippy, flirtatious jokes from Penelope. Reid didn't mull about awkwardly avoiding them for the rest of the evening. And, well, Rossi and JJ already knew. So it was easy to fall in step with Aaron, to spend an easy evening with each other, and with their family, and for everything to feel normal, even though they both knew that everything, _everything, _had changed, all at once, completely, and for the better.

Eventually, the guests dissipated. There was nobody left but the team, seated around one of the large tables, falling, as they always did, into that easy, comfortable conversation that came from years of knowing and loving one another so deeply. Sitting beside Aaron, their hands clasped together in her lap, her head on his shoulder, and listening to her friends talk about everything and nothing all at once, JJ at her side with a sleeping Henry in her arms, Morgan across from her, letting Spencer slowly drift to sleep against his shoulder, Emily couldn't believe she had ever left all of this behind. Their drinks stood mostly abandoned as fireflies buzzed fluttered around the candles that were starting to flicker out around the garden, and the caterers had long since packed away the food. Henry began to stir in JJ's arms, so she and Will made their excuses.

"We've gotta get this little tyke home." Will ruffled Henry's hair gently where his head rested on JJ's shoulder, pressing a kiss to the little boy's forehead.

"Thank you, Dave, for everything." Emily watched as they thanked Rossi.

"Anything for my little girl." The greying agent had smiled, and the look of pride on his face as he kissed JJ's cheek made Emily's heart weep for all of the children he had never fathered, and those he had taken under his wing as his own.

The blonde passed Henry to Will, the little boy waking up just enough to curl his arms tightly around his father's neck, secure in the strong arms that protected him, and lifted her skirt as she made her way to Emily. Getting up from where she sat beside Aaron, she met the blonde halfway across the garden, and embraced her.

"I'm so happy for you." JJ muttered into her ear, and Emily smiled against her shoulder.

"You're the bride; I'm supposed to say that to you." They stood like that a moment longer, clinging tight to each other, before Emily let her go. "I'll see you in a few days. Go and enjoy your little family, Mrs Lamontange."

"JL just doesn't have the same ring, does it?" The younger agent grinned as she turned and headed back towards her husband and child, and Emily watched her go with a smile before returning to her seat. Aaron's hand wrapped around her shoulder immediately, and she leaned into him, head resting in the crook of his neck.

"We've got to get _this_ tyke home, too," Morgan joked, shrugging his shoulder, against which Spencer was slowly drifting to sleep. Penelope ruffled his hair in much the same way Will had done to Henry, making them all laugh as Reid blinked, confusedly, up at her.

"M'up." He said, sleepily.

"C'mon, pretty boy, time to get you home."

Hugs were exchanged, with a hard kiss on her cheek from Penelope that made her giggle, and Emily settled back in her seat as she watched them leave, Rossi showing them all to the door, leaving the two of them alone in the garden.

"Do you ever think about it?" He asked, nose pressed into her hair. She reached for his hand, winding her fingers through his on her lap, tracing patterns on the back of his hand.

"What's that?" She watched with a contented smile as JJ and Will climbed the steps of the patio, one child in Will's arms, the other growing slowly in JJ's belly, ready to make his or her appearance in a couple of months time.

"Marriage."

Her fingers stilled as she cast a dismissive glance up at him. "Steady there," She joked, though her heart stuttered in her chest. "God, take a girl out on a date first, Aaron."

He chuckled, and she felt his chest shake against her shoulder where she leaned on him. "I'm serious, Em."

Sitting up, she turned to stare straight into his eyes, and felt as though she could dive into the depths of emotion she saw there. It scared her, exhilarated her, made her heart beat faster in her chest.

"I love you." He said, simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "And I want to be with you. I don't see any reason to wait, do you?"

"I love you too," She insisted, but she shook her head, "But I can think of a hundred reasons. We work together, so our relationship is already going to complicate things. We don't live together, we don't even know what that's going to look like. _Jack._ You've had one too many beers, Hotchner. In the morning, you'll see how crazy this is."

"This isn't a whim, Emily." His tone was so level and even that it scared her, because he wasn't backing down. "I've thought about this a lot. I've not been able to get you out of my head for over a year now. I want us. I want this. Permanently. Officially. As for work, you're right, us being together is going to complicate things. If we're married, it's less likely to do so, because they'll see that we're serious, we're not going to break the team up on a whim of a relationship. Jack adores you. Seriously," He grinned as she smiled at that comment, "I think he might love you even more than I do, and that's really saying something. And as for living together? You don't have a flat to move into when you come back. Where did you think you were going to go? We can buy an apartment, a house. Whatever you want."

Emily stared, searching for more excuses in her head, and finding none. His reasoning was flawless, and she found that she didn't _want_ to argue against him. Having never been the conventional type, the idea of marriage had never enticed her in the same way it had for other girls she knew. Emily had never spent her teenage years cutting images of wedding dresses and bouquets and venues out of magazines. She had never hung a pillowcase off the back of her head and called herself a bride. And, as she got older, she'd never given it a second thought. But the idea of marrying Aaron? It suddenly felt as though the fireflies hovering around the garden had migrated to her stomach.

"You really do have this all figured out, don't you?" The corner of her mouth tugged up into a smile. "You realise it's insane?"

With a shrug, Aaron spread his hands. "What about our lives isn't insane? This," He shook his head, his eyes serious once more. "This is the only thing that makes sense to me. You are the only thing that makes sense to me. You and Jack. I want to start living that life, we've waited long enough."

"I want it too." She insisted, "But why does having it have to be dictated by a piece of paper? And do I have to change my name? I like my name, Aaron."

"You don't have to change anything you don't want to," He chuckled at her concerns, lifting a hand to run it through her hair, softly, tucking a piece behind her ear. "I'm just ready for you to be mine."

"I'm yours," Leaning in, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "You've got me, Aaron Hotchner. For better or for worse, even without a stupid ring and piece of paper."

"You know, you don't _have _to sign the papers." A voice interrupted them, and they both turned to look at Rossi. "After all, I am an ordained minister, and I hardly think The Almighty cares about the paperwork. Or that you care what He thinks, anyway." He said, with a pointed glance at Emily.

Turning from Rossi, to each other, they stared, speechless, Emily's lips moving wordlessly, as she tried to find something to say.

"We've got a minister. We've got a flower arch," He gestured across the garden, to the aisle JJ had walked down many hours before. "Looks to me like this is your wedding right here."

"But it won't be legal-" Emily began.

"I don't care." Hotch shook his head. "So we go to the courthouse one day, when you're ready, or we don't. I don't care. I just want to be married to you. Even if we're the only ones who know about it. Then, maybe, eventually, we have a real wedding."

"Penny will kill me if I don't give her the real wedding." Emily joked, though nothing about the situation seemed very funny all of a sudden.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes." There wasn't a moment of hesitation before the word fell out of her mouth, and that was how Emily knew she was ready. Rossi was grinning to himself, already making his way to the arch, as she stood up and Hotch took her hand, following the older agent towards it.

They stood, hand in hand, as Rossi recited the same speech he had given to JJ and Will, and Emily heard barely a word of it as she stared up into Hotch's eyes. They were huge expanses of space, flecked with stars, as he gazed down at her, and Emily felt she could see their entire future in them.

"I don't suppose you have vows?" Rossi asked.

"No-" Hotch began to speak, but Emily cut him off.

"I'd actually like to say a few words." Both men fell silent as she spoke. "Aaron. Hotch." They both smiled, remembering the day he'd been given that nickname, "I've loved you since I was nineteen years old. Since I was that spoiled, rotten teenager who ignored you for a whole Summer whilst also trying to get your attention." Hotch chuckled at that. "I've known you as an uptight agent, as a pain-in-my-ass boss, as my best-" Her words caught in her throat, and she had to take a moment before she could continue, "As my best friend friend, as my lover. I've loved you across decades, across oceans, across continents. We've been through hell, together and apart." There was a moment, a brief second, when they both remembered it all. Haley, Foyet, Doyle. He squeezed her hands. "But you're the love of my life, Aaron Hotchner. And I promise to remind you of that every day. Even when you're being my pain-in-my-ass boss."

His eyes were wet now with unshed tears that he rapidly tried to blink away. "You've set me up for failure here, Em." He said, with a short laugh, "All you need to know is that you changed me. From the moment I met you, you changed me. Then you walked into my office years later and changed everything again. Now, I'm standing here the luckiest man in the world, and I don't know what I did to deserve you. But I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you."

Rossi let them speak, giving them a beat of silence after Aaron had finished, to be just the two of them, to recognise the weight of what was happening.

"Do you, Aaron Alexander Hotchner, take Emily Elizabeth Prentiss to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health,as long as you both shall live?" Rossi asked, and Emily could hear the smile on his face even without looking at him.

"I do." It came out as barely more than a whisper, and as Emily watched a tear finally find it's way down his cheek, she felt her own emotions begin to overflow, too.

"And do you, Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, take Aaron Alexander Hotchner to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

Nodding, her curls shaking around her face as she did so, hands clutching Aaron's so tightly that she knew she was leaving tiny, crescent shaped marks in his skin, but that he didn't care because he was clinging to her just as tightly, Emily barely managed to speak. "I do."

"Then, by the powers vested in me by the state of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

His lips found hers softly, gently, and Emily felt as though time had stopped around her. The fireflies were gone from her stomach; she wasn't nervous anymore, as he kissed her and she brought her hands up to rest on his face. She was sure. Sure of him, sure of their future, sure of their choices and sure of everything that had come before, which had led them to this moment. There was nothing that mattered anymore, nothing but _this_.

Hotch kept his eyes half open, unable to close them for fear of this moment slipping away into oblivion. He felt he might wake up, and she might be lost to him again, but her hands on her face and her lips pressed against his own were real, as real as anything had ever been. More so.

When he broke their kiss, resting his forehead against hers, he realised they were alone, and looked up to see the figure of Rossi heading back into the house. This was his gift to them, he knew, this moment alone, to be just the two of them, wrapped up in each others arms as though the rest of the world has ceased to exist. Rossi wouldn't say a word, and neither would they. Nobody need know what had transpired in the early hours of the morning, in Rossi's backyard. It didn't matter, either, that it wasn't yet legal because _they_ knew. Symbolically and officially, for them at least. He was hers and she was his. _As long as you both shall live._

And, for now, that was enough.

* * *

**so, 40 chapters later, we've come to the end.**

**you have no idea how much all of the support this fic has gotten means to me. i hope i've done you guys justice with this ending. thank you all for sticking with me, emily and hotch, to the end. **

**steph x**


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